answerable for me.”

“Exactly,” said the constable; “come along.”

“Nay, but this arn’t fair, master. Take one, take all. You bring us both.”

“Come along.”

“If you don’t bring that there young un too, I won’t go,” exclaimed the scoundrel, fiercely.

Click!

A short struggle, and then click again, and Mike Bannock’s hands were useless, but he threw himself down.

“Fair play, fair play,” he cried, savagely; “take one, take all. Are you going to charge him, master?”

“Take the scoundrel away, Smithers, and once more I will be bail—before the magistrates, if necessary—for my clerk’s appearance,” cried Uncle Josiah, who was now out of patience. “Can I help?”

“Well, sir, you could,” said the constable, grimly; “but if you’d have in three or four of your men, and a short step ladder, we could soon carry him off.”

“No man sha’n’t carry me off,” roared Mike, as Jem ran out of the office with great alacrity, and returned in a very short time with three men and a stout ladder, about nine feet long.

“That’s the sort, Wimble,” said the constable. “Didn’t think of a rope, did you?”

“Did I think of two ropes?” said Jem, grinning.

“Ah!” ejaculated the constable. “Now, Mike Bannock, I just warn you that any violence will make your case worse. Take my advice, get up and come quietly.”

“Take young Don Lavington too, then, and I will.”

“Get up, and walk quietly.”

“Not ’less you takes him.”

“Sorry to make a rumpus, sir,” said the constable, apologetically; “but I must have him out.”

“The sooner the better,” said Uncle Josiah, grimly.

“I am ready to go, uncle,” said Don, quietly. “I am not afraid.”

“Hold your tongue, sir!” said the merchant, sternly; “and stand out of the way.”

“Now, Mike,” said the constable, “this is the third time of asking. Will you come quiet?”

“Take him too,” cried Mike.

“Ready with those ropes, Wimble. You two, ready with that there. Now, Mike Bannock, you’ve been asked three times, and now you’ve got to mount that ladder.”

“Any man comes a-nigh me,” roared Mike, “I’ll—”

He did not say what, for the constable dashed at him, and by an ingenious twist avoided a savage kick, threw the scoundrel over on his face, as he lay on the floor, and sat upon him, retaining his seat in spite of his struggles.

“Step the first,” said the constable, coolly. “Now, Wimble, I want that ladder passed under me, so as to lie right along on his back. Do you see?”

“Yes, sir,” cried Jem, eagerly; and taking the ladder as the constable sat astride the prostrate scoundrel, holding down his shoulders, and easing himself up, the ladder was passed between the officer’s legs, and, in spite of a good deal of heaving, savage kicking, and one or two fierce attempts to bite, right along till it was upon Mike’s back, projecting nearly two feet beyond his head and feet.

“Murder!” yelled Mike, hoarsely.

“What? Does it hurt, my lad? Never mind; you’ll soon get used to it.”

The constable seated himself upon the ladder, whose sides and rounds thoroughly imprisoned the scoundrel in spite of his yells and struggles to get free.

“Now then, Wimble, I’ve got him. You tie his ankles, one each side, tightly to the ladder, and one of you bind his arms same way to the ladder sides. Cut the rope. Mr Christmas will not mind.”

The men grinned, and set to work so handily that in a few moments Mike was securely bound.

“Now then,” said the constable, “I’ll have one round his middle; give me a piece of rope; I’ll soon do that.”

He seized the rope, and, without rising, rapidly secured it to one side of the ladder.

“Now,” he said, “raise that end.”

This was done, the rope passed under Mike, drawn up on the other side, hauled upon till Mike yelled for mercy, and then knotted twice.

“There, my lads,” said the constable, rising; “now turn him over.”

The ladder was seized, turned, and there lay Mike on his back, safely secured.

“Here, undo these,” he said, sullenly. “I’ll walk.”

“Too late, Mike, my boy. Now then, a couple of men head and tail. Let the ladder hang at arm’s length. Best have given in quietly, and not have made yourself a show, Mike.”

“Don’t I tell you I’ll walk?” growled the prisoner. “And let us have all our trouble for nothing? No, my lad, it’s too late. Ready there! Up with him. Good morning, sir. March!”

The men lent themselves eagerly to the task, for Mike was thoroughly disliked; and a few minutes later there was a crowd gathering and following Mike Bannock as he was borne off, spread-eagled and half tipsy, to ponder on the theft and his chances in the cold damp place known in Bristol as the lock-up.

Don Lavington stood in the office, waiting for his uncle to speak.