Tramp, tramp, tramp came the slow approach, and then a sudden halt--the halt they knew so well--followed by something like a stifled groan as the victim stiffly bent forward to examine the treasure-trove. His gloved hand had nearly closed on the parcel when Jack adroitly flicked it a few inches away. He bent still farther, with another gasping effort, and then, even as the parcel again moved onward, there came a loud, startled cry, and the horrified twins beheld their victim fall forward on his face, and lie helpless on the ground. CHAPTER SIX. WHAT CAME OF THE TRICK. A moment Jack and Jill stared at each other in horrified silence, then the same words burst from both lips-- "We must help him! We must see if he is hurt!" Out from behind the bushes they flew, raced for the nearest gate, and ran panting to the scene of the accident. The rays from the lamp near at hand lighted up the pavement, and showed the old gentleman already dragging himself to his feet, assisted by a lady whom Jill recognised in the flash of an eye as the much-admired occupant of Number 17. There she stood in her smart fur coat, a little red velvet toque perched on her dark locks, supporting the old gentleman by the arm, and so evidently overpowered by his weight that she was overjoyed to welcome further assistance. No words were spoken, but quick as light Jack darted forward and pulled with all his force, while Jill placed both hands against the blue broadcloth back and vigorously pushed forward. As a result of these united efforts, the old gentleman was hoisted to an upright position, with a celerity which appeared to startle him almost as much as the preceding fall. He leant against the railings, puffed and panted, groaned and grumbled, while the onlookers listened with sympathy and self-reproach. "Injured for life--strained in every muscle--nervous shock--police-- disgraceful--much obliged--advice at once--no time for delay." The different phrases detached themselves from attacks of groanings and sighings, and, hearing the last words, Jack was blessed with a brilliant inspiration. "There's a doctor at the corner, sir. Would you like me to help you to the house?" he said in his politest manner. It seemed as if, after all, good might arise out of evil if the accident were the means of providing his father with a new patient. There was not much wrong with the old fellow--anyone could see that--but he was fidgety and nervous about himself, which, of course, would make him the more valuable from a doctor's point of view. Later on the boy would be obliged to confess his own responsibility in the accident. He would feel a sneak if he did not, but the present was the time for action, not confession. "Doctor at the corner, eh? Well, well, get me to him as quickly as possible. Shattered! Quite shattered! Must have a rest, and drive home! Bad day's work! Never the same again!"