Looking down on the upturned faces below him, Mr. Tapster was very glad that a stout pane of glass stood between himself and the sinister-looking men and women who seemed to be staring up at him, or rather at his windows, with faces full of cruel, wolfish curiosity. He let the blind fall to gently. His interest in the vulgar, sordid scene had suddenly died down; the drama was now over; in a moment the crowd would disperse, the human vermin--but Mr. Tapster would never have used, even to himself, so coarse an expression--would be on their way back to their burrows. But before he had even time to rearrange the curtains in their right folds, there came a sudden, loud, persistent knocking at his front door. Mr. Tapster turned sharply round, feeling justly incensed. Of course he knew what it was,--some good-for-nothing urchin finding a vent for his excited feelings. While it was quite proper that the police should have hurried on with their still burden to the nearest hospital or workhouse infirmary, they should have left at least one constable to keep order. His parlour-maid, who was never in any hurry to open the door--she had once kept him waiting ten minutes when he had forgotten his latch-key--would certainly take no notice of this unseemly noise, but he, James Tapster, would himself hurry out and try and catch the delinquent, take his name and address, and thoroughly frighten him. As he reached the door of the dining-room Mr. Tapster heard the front door open--open, too, and this was certainly very surprising, from the outside! In the hall he saw that it was a policeman--in fact, the officer on point duty close by--who had opened his front door, and apparently with a latch-key. In the moment that elapsed before the constable spoke, Mr. Tapster's mind had had time to formulate a new theory. How strange he had never heard that the police have means of access to every house on their beat! The fact surprised but did not alarm him, for our hero was one of the great army of law-abiding citizens in whose eyes a policeman is no human being, subject to the same laws, the same temptations and passions which afflict ordinary humanity. No, no; in Mr. Tapster's eyes a constable could do no wrong, although he might occasionally stretch a point to oblige such a man as was Mr. Tapster himself. But what was the constable saying--speaking, as constables always do to the Mr. Tapsters of this world, in respectful and subdued tones? "Can I just come in and speak to you, sir? There's been a sad accident--your lady fallen in the water; we found these keys in her pocket, and then someone said she was Mrs. Tapster,"--and the policeman held out the two keys which had played a not unimportant part in Mr. Tapster's interview with Flossy. "A man on the bridge saw her go in," went on the policeman, "so she wasn't in the water long--something like a quarter of an hour--for we soon found her. I suppose you would like her taken upstairs, sir?"