"I've been robbed of my pocketbook!" he exclaimed. "One of these two has
got it--brushed up against me just now on the way out of the stalls.
Where's the manager?"
Only a few people in the immediate vicinity were conscious that anything
at all unusual was happening. The promenade just at that particular spot
was almost deserted.
"This gentleman is certainly mistaken," Mr. Parker declared with dignity.
"Neither my friend nor myself knows anything about his pocketbook."
"I am sorry," Mr. Cullen said politely, "but I shall have to trouble you
to come with me to Bow Street at once--and you, too, sir," he added,
addressing the old gentleman. "I am a police officer and we will go into
the matter there. You will agree with me that it is well not to make a
disturbance here. I have two assistants with me."
He indicated by a little gesture two men who had emerged from somewhere in
the background.
"I will go with the utmost pleasure," Mr. Parker consented. "At the same
time this gentleman has obviously been drinking and his charge is absurd."
It was precisely at this moment that I felt something hard pressed against
my hand. With a dexterity that was nothing short of miraculous, Mr.
Parker, who apparently was standing with his hands in his pockets, had
suddenly forced one of them through some secret opening in his coat.
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