first glance brought me near my wit’s end, but not altogether. I have always been
led on by small glimpses of Hope’s lamp till I got nearer and nearer her temple, and never yet gave up till all was dark. I stepped to the other side of the street, where there are some bad
houses. No door open, every window shut, and no light within that could be observed. I could walk with the lightest of feet, and proceeded noiselessly along the narrow pavement till I came to
Drummond Street, where there is the recess in which the well stands. I had no hope from that recess because it is comparatively open, and, dark as the night was, they could scarcely have skulked
there without the man on the beat seeing them. Yet I was satisfied also that they could not have gone up by Drummond Street. I may mention that I could hear when almost every other person could
discover nothing but silence; nay, this quickness of the hearing sense has often been a pain to me, for the tirl of a mouse has often put me off my rest when I stood in great need of it. I require
to say nothing of my other poor senses here; they were not needed, for there was nothing to be seen except below the straggling lamps, in the pale light of one of which I saw my man standing
sentry, but nothing more.
Expecting nothing from the recess, I crossed to the angle, rather disappointed, and was rather meditative than listening, foiled than hopeful, when my ear was arrested by one or two deep
breathings,—scared robbers are great breathers, especially after a tussle with a victim. I could almost tell the kind of play of lungs; it speaks fear, for there is an attempt to repress the
sound, and yet nature here cannot be overcome. On the instant I felt sure of my prey, yet I tested my evidence even deliberately. There was more than one play of lungs at work—I could trace
two,—and all their efforts, for they had seen the man pass, and had probably heard our conversation, were not able to overcome the proof that was rushing out of their noses, (as if this organ
could give out evidence as well as take it in,) not their mouths,—fear shuts the latter, if wonder should open it,—to reach my ear, just as if some great power adopted this mode of
showing man that there is a speaking silence that betrays the breakers of God’s laws. Now certain I hastened over to the man on the beat, and, whispering to him to go to the station for
another man, took my watch again. I knew I had them in my power, because if they took themselves to flight, I could beat them at that trick; so I cooled myself down to patience, and kept my place
without moving an inch, quite contented so long as I heard the still half-suppressed respirations.
In a few minutes my men were up, coming rather roughly for such fine work. I took each by the coat-neck,—
“Steady, and not a whisper! They are round the corner,—batons ready, and a rush.”
By a combined movement, we all wheeled round the angle, and before another breath could force itself, we had the two chevaliers in our hands,—even as they were standing, bolt upright
against the gable of the house that forms one side of the recess. Like all the rest of their craft they were quite innocent, only their oaths—for they were a pair of desperate thimblers, whom
I knew at once—might have been sufficient to have modified the effects of their protestations. They were, indeed, dangerous men. They had nearly throttled M’—ie, and in revenge
for getting nothing off him had threatened to murder him. My next object was to get them identified by the people who had raised the cry, for if they had dispersed we might have been—with
nothing on them belonging to the man—in want of evidence, though not in want of a justification, of our capture of two well-known personages. Fortunately, when we got to the station some of
the women were there who identified them on the instant, whereupon they became, as sometimes the very worst of them do, “gentle
led on by small glimpses of Hope’s lamp till I got nearer and nearer her temple, and never yet gave up till all was dark. I stepped to the other side of the street, where there are some bad
houses. No door open, every window shut, and no light within that could be observed. I could walk with the lightest of feet, and proceeded noiselessly along the narrow pavement till I came to
Drummond Street, where there is the recess in which the well stands. I had no hope from that recess because it is comparatively open, and, dark as the night was, they could scarcely have skulked
there without the man on the beat seeing them. Yet I was satisfied also that they could not have gone up by Drummond Street. I may mention that I could hear when almost every other person could
discover nothing but silence; nay, this quickness of the hearing sense has often been a pain to me, for the tirl of a mouse has often put me off my rest when I stood in great need of it. I require
to say nothing of my other poor senses here; they were not needed, for there was nothing to be seen except below the straggling lamps, in the pale light of one of which I saw my man standing
sentry, but nothing more.
Expecting nothing from the recess, I crossed to the angle, rather disappointed, and was rather meditative than listening, foiled than hopeful, when my ear was arrested by one or two deep
breathings,—scared robbers are great breathers, especially after a tussle with a victim. I could almost tell the kind of play of lungs; it speaks fear, for there is an attempt to repress the
sound, and yet nature here cannot be overcome. On the instant I felt sure of my prey, yet I tested my evidence even deliberately. There was more than one play of lungs at work—I could trace
two,—and all their efforts, for they had seen the man pass, and had probably heard our conversation, were not able to overcome the proof that was rushing out of their noses, (as if this organ
could give out evidence as well as take it in,) not their mouths,—fear shuts the latter, if wonder should open it,—to reach my ear, just as if some great power adopted this mode of
showing man that there is a speaking silence that betrays the breakers of God’s laws. Now certain I hastened over to the man on the beat, and, whispering to him to go to the station for
another man, took my watch again. I knew I had them in my power, because if they took themselves to flight, I could beat them at that trick; so I cooled myself down to patience, and kept my place
without moving an inch, quite contented so long as I heard the still half-suppressed respirations.
In a few minutes my men were up, coming rather roughly for such fine work. I took each by the coat-neck,—
“Steady, and not a whisper! They are round the corner,—batons ready, and a rush.”
By a combined movement, we all wheeled round the angle, and before another breath could force itself, we had the two chevaliers in our hands,—even as they were standing, bolt upright
against the gable of the house that forms one side of the recess. Like all the rest of their craft they were quite innocent, only their oaths—for they were a pair of desperate thimblers, whom
I knew at once—might have been sufficient to have modified the effects of their protestations. They were, indeed, dangerous men. They had nearly throttled M’—ie, and in revenge
for getting nothing off him had threatened to murder him. My next object was to get them identified by the people who had raised the cry, for if they had dispersed we might have been—with
nothing on them belonging to the man—in want of evidence, though not in want of a justification, of our capture of two well-known personages. Fortunately, when we got to the station some of
the women were there who identified them on the instant, whereupon they became, as sometimes the very worst of them do, “gentle
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