lost dog seeking his master. He then darted up the
stairs, the seven little Rogerses streaming after him. When he had
reached the top floor and had thoroughly assured himself that
everywhere there was a void of desolation, he uttered a howl of
despair, and, forgetful of the tail of young Rogerses toiling after him
in vain, turned, and tearing down the stairs collided with Nelly, who,
losing her balance, fell back on Eustace, who in turn lost his balance,
and amidst wails and yells comet and tail tumbled down the stairs and
lay in a heap on the first-floor landing.

Mr. Rogers was the first to disentangle himself from the struggling
mass.

"Stop it, you little beasts! Stop it!" he shouted.

They stopped it, gazing in wonderment at their father as he once more
dashed down the stairs. At the door Mr. Rogers found Mrs. Rogers and
the two maids talking to the next-door neighbour, Mrs. Clark, who was
there with her maid, whom Bindle had addressed as "Ruthie." As he
approached, Mrs. Clark was saying:

"I thought there must be something wrong, the man looked such a
desperate fellow."

"Then why didn't you inform the police?" snapped Mr. Rogers.

"It was not my business, Mr. Rogers," replied Mrs. Clark with dignity.
Then, turning to Mrs. Rogers and the maid, she added, "The way that man
spoke to my maid was a scandal, and he was most insolent to me also."

"Get in, you little devils, get in!" Mr. Rogers roared.

"Albert dear, don't!" expostulated Mrs. Rogers with unaccustomed
temerity.

"In you get!" he repeated. And the family and maids were packed once
more into the omnibus.

"Back to the police-station," shouted Mr. Rogers.

Just as the vehicle was on the move Mrs. Clark came down to the gate
and called out, "I told Archie to follow the van on his bicycle in case
anything was wrong. He's got the address, but I have forgotten it. He
will be back in a minute. It was somewhere in Chiswick."

"Send him round to the police-station," shouted Mr. Rogers. "For God's
sake hurry, this is not a funeral," he almost shrieked to the driver.

"No, an' I ain't no bloomin' nigger neither," growled the man.

Neighbours were at their gates, scenting trouble in the way that
neighbours will. All sorts of rumours were afloat, the prevalent idea
being that Mr. Rogers was a bankrupt, and that his furniture had been
taken by the representatives of his creditors.

At the police-station Mr. Rogers once more bounced from the