The heavy cloud had been pouring down rain in volumes and hail in lines, when with Selsey Bill, and Mrs. Bill, and Polly lagging after us under a broken umbrella, my uncle and myself came to Honeysuckle Cottage and found Sergeant Biggs and Constable Turnover, with their oilskin capes running like a tiled roof, and their faces full of discipline. “Wouldn’t go inside, gents, till you came; no warrant being out, and no instructions received. Always gets into trouble, when we acts on our own hook.” We led them inside, for there was broad day-light now, and the cloud began to lift, and the rain came down in single drops, instead of one great sheet. As they stamped about and shook themselves in our little passage, scattering grimy wetness like a trundled mop, I wondered, with a bitter pang, what Kitty would have thought after all her neat work, if she could only have seen this. “Turnover, you come after me. We makes this inspection together, mind. And what I sees, you sees, and corroborates. Though it ain’t a case of murder, so far as we know yet, we must keep our eyes open, the same as if it was. Everything comes to us, and nothing comes amiss to them that does their duty.” This sentiment was much admired by Constable Turnover; and my uncle whispered, “Let them do exactly as they like, Kit. They are a pair of fools; but we need not tell them so. We shall have them on our side, at any rate. And if they don’t do any good, they can do no harm. Leave them entirely to their own devices.” This quite agreed with my own view of the matter. When a crime has been committed, we call in the police, as in dangerous illness we invoke a doctor, for the satisfaction of our own minds, rather than from any hope of being helped. And in the former case, we have this advantage—the thing becomes widely spread, and distant eyes are turned on it.