"I say we are." Again the only response was a movement of Mr. Townsend's shoulders. "Take hold of the gun." Mr. Haines endeavoured to thrust one of the revolvers into Mr. Townsend's hand. "Not I." "Take hold of the gun!" Mr. Haines, on Mr. Townsend's betraying an inclination to remove himself from too near neighbourhood, caught him by the shoulder. "Remove your hand, sir. I have no objection to your shooting me. But to your touching me while I am still alive I have." "You hearken to what I say, young man. Take hold of this gun!" Mr. Haines endeavoured to subject Mr. Townsend to what, in the nursery, is called a shaking. "If you attempt to do that again, Mr. Haines, I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of knocking you down--before the shooting." Mr. Haines attempted to do it again. Mr. Townsend tried to knock Mr. Haines down. Mr. Haines was not to be easily felled. Bursting into sudden passion, he seized Mr. Townsend by both shoulders. His two "guns" fell, unnoticed, to the ground. With commendable promptness Mr. Townsend returned the compliment which had been accorded him by clutching Mr. Haines. They clenched, struggled, and together fell to the floor. On the floor they continued to discuss to the best of their ability the side issue which Mr. Haines had raised. So engrossed were they with their own proceedings that they failed to notice the sudden opening of the door, followed by the unannounced entrance into the room of four or five men. One of them moved quickly to where the two combatants were contending on the floor. He placed his hand on Mr. Townsend's shoulder. "You are my prisoner, Mr. Townsend. I arrest you on the charge of murder." The sound of Mr. Holman's voice--for Matthew Holman was the speaker--did produce a diversion of the interest. The two men ceased to struggle. Then, being suffered to do so by Mr. Haines, Mr. Townsend rose to his feet. As he did so, some one who had come into the room with the police broke into laughter as he pointed at him with his finger. It was Mr. Pendarvon. "Yes, officer, that's your man. That's Townsend, the Three Bridges murderer." Mr. Pendarvon's merriment seemed out of place. He had cause to exchange it for something else a moment afterwards. Mr. Townsend turned to Mr. Holman. "As this person says, I am the man you want. And----" He paused; before they had a notion of what it was he intended to do, rushing forward, he had caught Mr. Pendarvon in his arms and borne him completely from his feet. "You are just the man I want." Mr. Townsend's movements were so rapid that, before they could do anything to stop him, he had carried his victim right across the room, and, brushing aside the curtains, with a tremendous splintering of glass, had crashed with him through the closed windows into the night beyond. "All right," cried Mr. Holman, as, too late to check his progress, the constables rushed after him. "There are some of the other chaps out there. They'll have him."