Peter put his hand to his throat; the rope had gone, but he could still feel the deep depression it had made upon his skin. “What was the game?” said a gruff voice. He blinked up, could distinguish a helmeted head--a policeman. “How do you feel? Would you like me to get an ambulance? I can put you into the hospital in a minute.” Shaking in every limb, Peter struggled to his feet. “I’m all right,” he said unsteadily. “Who were they?” The policeman shook his head. “I don’t know. They passed me at the end of the street, and I thought they looked queer. Little fellows with flat noses; more like monkeys than men. And then I saw them go for you and came after them. I think I just about saved your life, young fellow.” “I think you did,” said Peter ruefully, as he felt at his scarred throat. “Run! I never saw anybody run as fast as they did,” said the constable. “Did you have a row with them?” “No, I never saw them before in my life,” said Peter. “Humph!” The officer was looking at him dubiously. “Wonder who they were? They talked in some lingo I didn’t understand. I only caught one word, or maybe it’s two--orange pander or bander.” “_Orang blanga?_” asked Peter quickly, and whistled. “Know ’em?” Peter shook his head. “No, I don’t know them. I guess their nationality. Javanese.” The officer was loath to leave him. “Where are you going now?” “I’m trying to find a lodging.” He was still far from recovered, for when he took a step the street and the officer went round in a mad whirl, and but for the policeman’s arm he would have fallen. “You’ll get yourself pinched for being drunk,” said the policeman humorously. “Lodgings? Now where did I see a lodging?” He switched on his light, walked slowly down the street, flashing the lamp upon the windows. Presently he stopped. “Here you are,” he said. Peter made a slow and cautious way to where the policeman was standing. The lantern was focused upon a little card in the window: Lodgings for a Respectable Young Man. “Will this do for you?” Peter nodded, and the constable rapped gently on the door. He had to wait some time, but presently there was a heavy foot in the passage and a woman’s voice asked hoarsely: “It’s all right, missis,” said the custodian of the law. “I’m a policeman; there’s a gentleman here who wants lodging.” The door was unlocked and opened a few inches. “I’ve got a room, yes, but it’s a bit late, ain’t it?” The constable uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why, bless me, it’s Mrs. Inglethorne!” “Yes, it’s Mrs. Inglethorne,” repeated the woman bitterly. “And well you ought to know, considering the trouble you police have brought on me! My old man being as innocent as a babe unborn, and our lodger as nice a young man as ever drew the breath of life!”