“Mine are too narrow in the shoulders for you,” said William Bailey, thinking, “Zachary is altogether too thin. You’re big, Dimmy, not to say fat. The trousers wouldn’t meet and the coat wouldn’t go on. But I can put you to bed and send for clothes. What d’you mean about hiding? I can see you have some reasons for privacy; in fact if you _hadn’t_, getting up that chimney would be a schoolboy sort of thing to do at your age. Have you been bathing without a licence, and some one stolen your clothes? Or have they been having a jolly rag at the Buteleys’? They’re close by.” “I’ll tell you when I’ve washed,” said Demaine wearily, “only now do let me slip up to the bathroom like a good fellow. Good God, I’m tired!” William Bailey opened the door and peered cautiously into the corridor, listened for footsteps and heard none, and then, after locking the door of the study behind him, as was his ridiculous habit, he popped up a narrow pair of stairs, with Dimmy, whose old nature had sufficiently returned to cause him to stumble, following at his heels. They were not quite out of the range of the front door when there came a violent pull at the bell, and Elise went forward to open it. William Bailey pushed his guest and cousin into the bathroom and went down to meet two policemen who stood with awful solemnity, clothed in suspicion and in power, at his threshold. From the depths of his sanctuary and through the crack of the half-open window, Demaine heard a conversation that did not please him. “Very sorry to have to ask you sir,” a deep bass was saying, “we’re bound to do it.” “We’re bound to do it,” echoed a tenor. Demaine did not hear his cousin’s reply. “Are you sure he’s been on the premises, sir?” came from the first policeman, whom I will call “_Basso Profondo_.” “Positive,” answered William Bailey’s voice, cheerful and loud. “Positive!” “Did you see him with your own eyes, sir?” this from the second policeman, whom I will call “_Tenore Stridente_.” “Certainly I did, or I wouldn’t be telling you this,” came again from William Bailey a little testily. “Well now, sir, we’ve suspicions that he’s on the place still.” “You’re wrong there,” said William Bailey, “he ran off down the Parham road when he heard my dog bark.” “We didn’t meet any one on the Parham road, sir:” it was the voice of the Tenore policeman who spoke, evidently a less ingenuous man than the Basso. “I can’t help that,” said William Bailey. “You’re welcome to look over the house.” They thanked him and walked in like an army. “It is for your own good, sir,” said the first policeman, in his deep bass. “Besides which it’s our duty,” said the second policeman in his _tenore stridente_. “Of course,” said William Bailey, “of course, and I hope that while one of you is doing the good, the other will look after the duty. It’s the kind of thing people like me are very fond of doing, hiding stowaways. I’ve hidden bushels of them.”