ight. Here, hold up, old man," said the other. "Look sharp! See
never I come out with him again."

"Yes, don't make a noise, or you'll bring out the doctor," said the
other man, and the policeman went to the cab door.

The cab evidently objected to the fare, for the door stuck, and only
yielded at last with a rattle, and so suddenly that John Whyley nearly
went on his back. But he recovered himself, and held his light so that
the utterly helpless man, who seemed as if composed of jelly, was pulled
by one of his companions, thrust by the other, into the cab, and forced
up on the back seat. "There y'are, const'ble," said the man with the
thick voice, "there's something to get glass; but don't take too much--
like that chap--my deares' frien', it's s'prising ain't it? Tell cabman
John's Hotel."

"All right, sir, he knows. Go ahead, cabby."

He took a few slow steps towards where the cabman stood by the horse's
head.

"Think they're all right?" said the cabman, in a husky whisper.

"Give me half-a-crown," said John Whyley.

"Did they? Wish I'd stood out for a sovereign."

As he spoke he started his horse slowly, and the cab went by the
constable, whose lamp showed the interior very indistinctly, the cab
window being drawn up, and then the sight and sound of the vehicle died
out in the fog, and all was once more still.

"Ill wind as blows no one any good!" said the constable, slowly
continuing his beat. "Rather have my half-crown than their sick
headaches in the morning. Rather rum that no one came out with all that
talking."

John Whyley hummed a tune and tried two or three front-doors and area
gates, and then he took off his helmet and scratched his head as if
puzzled.

"Now, have I done right?" he said suddenly. "Seemed to be square.
Smelt of drink horrid. Other two 'peared to be on all but once or
twice. I say! Was it acting?"

He gave his helmet a sharp blow with his doubled fist, stuck it on
tightly, and took a few quick steps in the direction in which the cab
had moved off.

"Tchah!" he ejaculated, stopping short; "that's the worst o' my trade;
makes a man suspicious of everything and everybody. Why, I nearly
accused the missus of picking my pockets of that sixpence I forgot I
spent with a mate. It's all right. They were as tight as tight. Ugh!
What a night."

John Whyley's beat took him in another direction, but something--a
feeling of dissatisfaction with his late act, or the sus