“That’s the place,” Hewitt whispered.  “Come, we’ll make a push for it.  You stand against the wall at one side of the door and I’ll stand at the other, and we’ll have him as he comes out.  Quietly, now, and I’ll startle them.”

He took a stone from among the rubbish littering the garden and flung it crashing through the window.  There was a loud exclamation from within, the blind fell, and somebody rushed to the back door and flung it open.  Instantly Kentish let fly a heavy right-hander, and the man went over like a skittle.  In a moment Hewitt was upon him and the gag in his mouth.

“Hold him,” Hewitt whispered, hurriedly.  “I’ll see if there are others.”

He peered down through the low window.  Within Sammy Crockett, his bare legs dangling from beneath his long overcoat, sat on a packing-box, leaning with his head on his hand and his back toward the window.  A guttering candle stood on the mantel-piece, and the newspaper which had been stretched across the window lay in scattered sheets on the floor.  No other person besides Sammy was visible.

They led their prisoner indoors.  Young Kentish recognized him as a public-house loafer and race-course ruffian, well known in the neighborhood.

“So it’s you, is it, Browdie?” he said.  “I’ve caught you one hard clump, and I’ve half a mind to make it a score more.  But you’ll get it pretty warm one way or another before this job’s forgotten.”

Sammy Crockett was overjoyed at his rescue.  He had not been ill-treated, he explained, but had been thoroughly cowed by Browdie, who had from time to time threatened him savagely with an iron bar by way of persuading him to quietness and submission.  He had been fed, and had taken no worse harm than a slight stiffness from his adventure, due to his light under-attire of jersey and knee-shorts.

Sergeant Kentish tied Browdie’s elbows firmly together behind, and carried the line round the ankles, bracing all up tight.  Then he ran a knot from one wrist to the other over the back of the neck, and left the prisoner, trussed and helpless, on the heap of straw that had been Sammy’s bed.

“You won’t be very jolly, I expect,” Kentish said, “for some time.  You can’t shout and you can’t walk, and I know you can’t untie yourself.  You’ll get a bit hungry, too, perhaps, but that’ll give you an appetite.  I don’t suppose you’ll be disturbed till some time to-morrow, unless our friend Danby turns up in the meantime.  But you can come along to jail instead, if you prefer it.”

They left him where he lay, and took Sammy to the old landau.  Sammy walked in slippers, carrying his spiked shoes, hanging by the lace, in his hand.

“Ah,” said Hewitt, “I think I know the name of the young lady who gave you those slippers.”

Crockett looked ashamed and indignant.  “Yes,” he said, “they’ve done me nicely between ’em.  But I’ll pay her—­I’ll——­”