'What's this? Where are you for in
such a hurry?' and he forcibly detained Theodore Racksole for a
moment and scrutinized his face.
'Now, officer,' said Racksole quietly, 'none of your larks, if you
please.
I've no time to lose.'
'Beg your pardon, sir,' the policeman remarked, though hesitatingly
and not quite with good temper, and Racksole was allowed to
proceed on his way. The millionaire's scheme for trapping Jules
was to get down into the little sunk yard by means of the ladder,
and then to secrete himself behind some convenient abutment of
brickwork until Mr Tom Jackson should have got into the cellar.
He therefore nimbly surmounted the railings - the railings of his
own hotel - and was gingerly descending the ladder, when lo! a
rough hand seized him by the coat-collar and with a ferocious jerk
urged him backwards. The fact was, Theodore Racksole had
counted without the policeman. That guardian of the peace,
mistrusting Racksole's manner, quietly followed him down the
lane. The sight of the millionaire climbing the railings had put him
on his mettle, and the result was the ignominious capture of
Racksole. In vain Theodore expostulated, explained,
anathematized. Only one thing would satisfy the stolid policeman -
namely, that Racksole should return with him to the hotel and
there establish his identity. If Racksole then proved to be
Racksole, owner of the Grand Babylon, well and good - the
policeman promised to apologize.
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