The boy was saved from answering by the action of Mark, who had darted into the conservatory, dog-like, on hearing a scuffle going on, and more breaking of glass, so as to be in the fight, and he now backed in, dragging at the dilapidated legs of the race-tout, helped by Sir Hilton and Granton, each of whom had hold of an arm, as they deposited their capture on the carpet. "Gently, Marky Willows," said the prisoner, coolly; "one of them legs is broke." "Broken! Which?" cried the doctor, the natural instinct of his craft rising above the feeling of triumph over the capture. In an instant he was upon one knee, feeling for the fracture, "Why, they're both right enough." "Air they?" said the tout, coolly. "A blooming good job too! I thought one was gone. Here, Marky, would you mind getting me my boots?" "Your boots?" cried the groom, looking with disgust, in the broadening daylight, at a pair of very dirty, stockingless feet. "Yes, lad; they're jus' behind that there spiky plant in the big tub." "There, Mark!" cried Jane, triumphantly. "Burglars! What did I say?" "Burglars, be hanged!" "You scoundrel!" cried Sir Hilton. "What were you doing there?" and, as if answering, the piteous wailing of a dog came from outside. "Trying to get out to my poor little dawg, Sir Rilton, on'y my foot slipped just as I was opening that top light. You oughter be ashamed of yourself, you ought!" "Well, of all the effrontery!" cried Granton. "So he oughter, doctor. That there flower-stand's painted up ter rights, but it's rotten as touchwood." "You ruffian! You broke in, and have been hidden there all the time." "Broke in, Sir Rilton. Nay, I wouldn't do sech a thing. I come in at that glass door right and proper enough, to try and see her ladyship about that pretty little dawg, but she and you was so busy having a row over the family washing that I says to myself, `The best thing you can do, Dinny's to call again,' and I was going to call again, as I says, when that beggarly rotten old flower-stand give way. Hark at the pretty little dear asking for his master." For the puppy whined again. "Well, you're a pretty scoundrel!" cried the doctor. "You dirty brute! Here, Hilt, old fellow, I should have him locked-up in a horse-box while you send for the police." "What!" shouted the tout, struggling up into a sitting position. "What for?" "Burgling," cried Sir Hilton. "Not me, sir. I ain't no burglar. Where's my jemmies and dark lanthorns, and where's the swag? I swear I ain't touched a thing." "You may swear that if you like when you're brought up before the Bench, where I'm chairman, as it happens." "Me--police--brought up before the Bench? You won't do it, Sir Rilton. I knows too much." "What!" cried Sir Hilton and the doctor together, while the ladies exchanged glances. "You don't want the dirty linen washed in public," said the tout, with a chuckle. "Her ladyship there said so."