They went in, and proceeded, while waiting for Jim, to amuse themselves in a naïve manner that was very upsetting to any compartment they chanced to favour with their attentions. In point of fact, they turned the surgery upside down, and were about to proceed with the still more disconcerting operation of putting it straight again, when a bearded gentleman appeared in the doorway and stared aghast at the confusion they had wrought. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, furiously. "Waiting for Jim," said the Welshman. "What do you mean? Who are you?" "Go away," said Mr Deadwood, playfully discharging the contents of a four-ounce syringe at the newcomer; "we don’t want you to play with us!" "Play with you! I’ll have the police to you! I’ll teach you to play here!" thundered the bearded man, turning on his heel and hastening down the street. Jim’s successor--for the bearded man was no less a personage--soon returned well backed up by several representatives of the law. "Now, then, what’s all this foolery? Clear out of here at once!" observed one of the latter, a stout sergeant. The Welshman advanced. "We have come to see Dr Mortimer. You can’t turn us out of here unless he wishes us to be turned out." "Get out--all of you!" was the sergeant’s abrupt rejoinder. "Before we get out," said Mr Deadwood, "tell us what right this hairy-faced fellow has here, my excellent but somewhat overfed friend!" "You’ll find out what right he has here when you appear before the beak to-morrow!" spluttered the sergeant. "Corpulent people should avoid excitement," put in Mr Deadwood. The sergeant glared at him and went on: "This here surgery is Dr Taplow’s, and this gentleman is in charge of it. You’ve come and broke up the wrong place, and so we must take you to the station--that is to say, if this gentleman wishes to charge you." "Certainly," said the bearded man; "they have damaged the place, and must pay for it." The students looked ruefully at each other. "We thought this was Dr Mortimer’s surgery," one of them said. "Dr Mortimer’s is farther down the street," said the sergeant, "so you’ve made a big mistake in playin’ the fool here, and giving me cheek. You’ve got to come to the station, every man jack of you, and the quieter you come the better it will be for you in the morning." Now the Welshman--acknowledged leader of the band--spoke up. "Look here, bobby," he said, "we’ll go to the station, but we’re not going to be marched off like pickpockets. If you keep to the left-hand pavement, we’ll keep to the right, and I’ll give you my word of honour for the lot that we won’t cut." The Welshman had a good pair of eyes, and the stout sergeant was an old hand at summing up character at short notice. He conferred briefly with his men. "Very well," he said, at length, "I’ll agree to that. First give me your name and address, though."