The bald-headed man spoke in a very dictatorial manner, without looking up from his writing. Upon the entrance of the woman he rose majestically. “There’ll be a cheer for you in a minute, my lady,” he said, addressing the woman as though it gave him great pleasure to do so. “Had we knowed you was coming we’d ’a had it dusted.” “It is of no consequence,” said the woman, as if she meant it. By this time her tone had acquired a note of sweetness. She had seemed to be mollified by the manner in which her progress had stirred the great heart of the public. “I understand, my lady,” said the bald-headed man, “that you prefers a charge against the accused of theft from the person at Barter’s Emporium?” “I have nothing whatever to do with the charges,” said the woman tenaciously. “I ask only for my purse. I can’t _live_ without it. If it is not restored to me immediately it will be most displeasing to Lord Pomeroy.” “On’y a matter o’ form, my lady,” said the bald-headed man blandly. “Bring the book, Harby. This way, Pearson. Take a cheer, your ladyship.” With considerable stateliness the woman sank on to a chair of purple velvet. The bald-headed man re-seated himself at the table and opened the book. He turned to the boy with an almost ferocious sternness, which made him shudder in spite of his bewilderment. “Now then, my lad,” he said, “what’s your name?” “I--I--I d-don’t think I know, sir,” stammered the boy, after this question had been repeated twice. “Oh, don’t you?” said the bald-headed man, his ferocity yielding to a sudden pleasantness that seemed even more remarkable. “You don’t think you knows? Bring the register, Harby. He don’t think he knows!” The boy’s confession of ignorance had conferred upon the bald-headed man a sweetness of manner of which few would have suspected him to be capable. “Look up ‘C,’ Harby, vollum six,” said the bald-headed man, rubbing his hands with much satisfaction, and then adjusting a pair of pince-nez which hung by a gold cord from his neck. “Open wound on the face.” The woman turned sharply to the little girl. “Come here, child,” she said. “Have I not told you to keep away from that horrid boy?” Without paying the least attention to the woman, the little girl touched the hand of the boy with a kind of odd confidentialness. “I yike oo velly much,” she said. “We shall not detain you, my lady,” said the bald-headed man, bestowing a studious attention upon his diction. “But I’m afraid we must trouble you to come to see the magistrate to-morrow morning at eleven. The accused will be detained in custody. He has all the appearance of being an old hand. By to-morrow we shall hope to have found out a bit more about him.” “Why don’t you give me my purse?” said the woman. “I can’t live without it.” “Was a purse found on the accused, Moxon?” said the bald-headed man to the stouter of the two original constables. “No, sir,” said Moxon, “on’y fourpence in copper and a foreign book.”