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The Finger of Fate.

"Wot, assault the perlice? My eye, here's a go! Come along o' me! I'm the constable. I'll give you a lodging. So it's cash-boxes, is it? Come along o' me—both on yer!"

And he led us to a square building at the back of his house, and, unlocking the door, pushed us in.

"Now," he said, "I'm a-going to search you."

And he did; but he found nothing except a few sovereigns—for my money was in my dispatch box which had been placed in the luggage van.

"Now," said he, "how about searching your good woman? I ain't a-goin' to do it—and I ain't got a missus. Lookee here, suppose you do?"

"Sir, this lady is a total stranger to me."

"Ah! separate responsibilities, eh? The hold story. Now, lookee here, ma'am, I ain't a-goin' to search you, because I've been properly brought up: but I'm a-goin' to shake you to see if you rattle."

Miss Fortescue made no verbal reply, but pulled out a gigantic clasp knife.

"All rights," said she. "Come on policeman!" He hesitated.

"Look, policeman, I tell you what I do. I walk out of this. Good nights!" And she did.

The policeman turned pale and civil.

"Ain't you goin' along with her, sir?" said he.

"I am not. I pass the night here."

He retired, swearing fluently, and locked the door on me.

I could not sleep—but, at all events, I was free at last from my persecutrix. I was so pleased that I sang a