_The first scene is the Magistrate's room at Mulberry Street Police Court, with a doorway covered by curtains, leading directly into the Court, and a door opening into a passage. It is the morning after the events of the last Act._ _POLICE SERGEANT LUGG, a middle-aged man with a slight country dialect, enters with "The Times" newspaper, and proceeds to cut it and glance at its contents, while he hums a song._ _MR. WORMINGTON, an elderly, trim and precise man, enters._ MR. WORMINGTON. Good morning, Lugg. LUGG. Morning, Mr. Wormington. MR. WORMINGTON. Mr. Posket not arrived yet? LUGG. Not yet, sir. Hullo! [_Reading._] "Raid on a West End Hotel.--At an early hour this morning----" MR. WORMINGTON. Yes, I've read that--a case of assault upon the police. LUGG. Why, these must be the folks who've been so precious rampageous all night. MR. WORMINGTON. Very likely. LUGG. Yes, sir, protestin' and protestin' till they protested everybody's sleep away. Nice-looking women, too, though, as I tell Mrs. Lugg, now-a-days there's no telling who's the lady and who isn't. Who's got this job, sir? MR. WORMINGTON. Inspector Messiter. LUGG. Messiter! That's luck! Why he's the worst elocutionist in the force, sir.[*] [_As he arranges the newspaper upon the table, he catches sight of MR. WORMINGTON'S necktie, which is bright red._] Well, I--excuse me, Mr. Wormington, but all the years I've had the honour of knowin' you, sir, I've never seen you wear a necktie with, so to speak, a dash of colour in it. ---------- [*] A City magistrate, censuring a constable for the indistinctness of his utterances in the witness box, suggested that the police should be instructed in a method of delivering evidence articulately. ---------- MR. WORMINGTON. Well, Lugg, no, that's true, but to-day is an exceptional occasion with me. It is, in fact, the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marriage, and I thought it due to Mrs. Wormington to vary, in some slight degree, the sombreness of my attire. I confess I am a little uneasy in case Mr. Posket should consider it at all disrespectful to the Court. LUGG. Not he, sir. MR. WORMINGTON. I don't know. Mr. Posket is punctiliousness itself in dress, and his cravat's invariably black. However, it is not every man who has a silver wedding-day. LUGG. It's not every one as wants one, sir. [_MR. WORMINGTON goes out; at the same moment MR. POSKET enters quickly, and leans on his chair as if exhausted. His appearance is extremely wretched; he is still in evening dress, but his clothes are muddy, and his linen soiled and crumpled, while across the bridge of his nose he has a small strip of black plaster._ MR. POSKET. [_Faintly._] Good morning, Lugg. LUGG. Good morning to you, sir. Regretting the liberty I'm taking, sir--I've seen you look more strong and hearty. MR. POSKET. I am fairly well, thank you, Lugg. My night was rather--rather disturbed. Lugg! LUGG. Sir? MR. POSKET.