A hansom cab and a four-wheeler were drawn up in readiness at the side of the kerb opposite the doors of the shop. Quite a crowd was besieging the pavement, although perfect order was maintained by a small but diligent posse of police constables of the X division. When the owner of the purse emerged from the precincts of the shop each constable saluted with military precision, and then proceeded to hustle stray members of the multitude away from the door. As the woman and the little girl entered the hansom with the aid of the tall man and the man in the white waistcoat, and with the further aid of two police officers, some of the bystanders removed their hats. The woman seemed to be a little exhilarated by the proportions attained by the crowd, and also by the respectful warmth of her reception. She stood up in the hansom and addressed the crowd as though it had been a public meeting. “I hold you entirely responsible for the loss of my purse,” she said, looking all around her as if to include one and all in this indictment. “I refuse to pay any charges. Lord Pomeroy will be indignant.” The travellers outside a passing omnibus stood up to listen, and as the hansom drove off with the woman and the little girl to the nearest police station, a man, wearing a “wide-awake” hat and a white tie, called out from the roof of the bus, “Three cheers for Lord Pomeroy!” They were given heartily. The more amply nourished of the two police constables then entered the four-wheeled cab. The boy was thrust in after him. The second police constable followed. A third police constable, whose dignity and ample nourishment, assisted by stripes on the arm, seemed even to transcend those of his brethren in the interior, hoisted himself with difficulty on the driver’s box, which groaned beneath his weight. As the vehicle moved off slowly, some of the bystanders also groaned. The police station was round the corner of the next street, some fifty yards distant. The woman’s hansom had been there quite a minute by the time the four-wheeled cab appeared at the rate of three miles an hour. The woman had deemed it expedient to remain in the hansom until its arrival. The absence of excited onlookers at the door of the police station had been a disappointment to her. It had seemed to be an error of judgment to arrive before the police. And by a curious oversight she had neglected to have a police constable riding in the hansom with her. However, with the consummate generalship gained by a long intercourse with public life she was able to repair this omission. She stood up in the hansom, and after catching the eye of several of the passers-by, called out to no one in particular in her most vibrant mass-meeting accents, “Let the prisoner get out first.”