By this time the policemen could be heard scrambling down from the roof; they had found nothing, which, seeing that the roof was in shape exactly pyramidical, was not wonderful. “Well, he’s gone, sir,” said the bass a little relieved. “We must see the bathroom before we leave, though,” added the tenor fixedly. “By all means,” said William Bailey, “if it’s empty,” he added with a decent reserve. They went upstairs and on their way he opened the writing-room door, and said: “Oh, there she is. Rebecca!” “Oh don’t worry me, I’m busy,” boomed in a manly voice from the seated figure. “Sorry I’m sure sir,” said the tenor, who was now sincerely apologetic. “We have no desire to disturb the lady, but it was our duty.” “Of course,” said William Bailey hurriedly, “of course,” and he shut the door, mentally renewing his profound faith in the imbecility of political life. The active and intelligent officers of the law gazed mechanically round the bathroom; they were too modest to examine a certain damp heap of black cloth that was flung huddled into a corner. They went out with every assurance that they would not have disturbed Mr. Bailey for a moment had they not been compelled by that sense of duty to their country to which they had already so frequently alluded. William Bailey accompanied them to the gate, in the fixed desire to see them off the place, and with a heartfelt silent prayer that Parrett would not go into the writing-room until he had returned. As they reached the gate the bass, who remembered the necessity for subscriptions to local clubs, charities and balls, and especially to the Policemen’s balls, charities and clubs, said once more that he hoped Mr. Bailey understood they had only done their duty. “Of course,” he added, “we know Mr. Merry very well, and we take it you’re a friend of his.” “Yes sir,” said the tenor more severely, “and we know who you are. We know everybody in the place, sir. It’s our business. We know what they do, where they come from and where they go to. They can’t escape us.” With this cheerful assurance the bass and the tenor both slightly saluted, and the gate shut behind them. Outside the gate a little crowd consisting of the two sailor-men, a dingy officer of the mercantile marine, three young boys, a draggle-tailed village girl, and a spaniel, awaited the return of the police, and when it was known that they had drawn blank, this little crowd paradoxically enough gave cry. Each was now as certain that he had seen the fugitive in some one of a hundred opposing and impossible directions as he had formerly been determined that the refugee was still concealed in Mr. Merry’s house.