“We are found out!” I said, faintly, to my two subordinates.  They stared at me in astonishment.  My feelings changed instantly from the depth of despair to the height of indignation.  “It is the cabman’s fault.  Get out, one of you,” I said, with dignity,—­“get out, and punch his head.”

Instead of following my directions, (I should wish this act of disobedience to be reported at head-quarters,) they both looked out of the window.  Before I could pull them back, they both sat down again.  Before I could express my just indignation, they both grinned, and said to me, “Please to look out, Sir!”

I did look out.  Their cab had stopped.  Where?  At a church door!

What effect this discovery might have had upon the ordinary run of men, I don’t know.  Being of a religious turn myself, it filled me with horror.  I have often read of the unprincipled cunning of criminal persons; but I never before heard of three thieves attempting to double on their pursuers by entering a church!  The sacrilegious audacity of that proceeding is, I should think, unparalleled in the annals of crime.

I checked my grinning subordinates by a frown.  It was easy to see what was passing in their superficial minds.  If I had not been able to look below the surface, I might, on observing two nicely dressed men and one nicely dressed woman enter a church before eleven in the morning, on a week day, have come to the same hasty conclusion at which my inferiors had evidently arrived.  As it was, appearances had no power to impose on me.  I got out, and, followed by one of my men, entered the church.  The other man I sent round to watch the vestry door.  You may catch a weasel asleep,—­but not your humble servant, Matthew Sharpin!

We stole up the gallery-stairs, diverged to the organ-loft, and peeped through the curtains in front.  There they were, all three, sitting in a pew below,—­yes, incredible as it may appear, sitting in a pew below!

Before I could determine what to do, a clergyman made his appearance in full canonicals, from the vestry door, followed by a clerk.  My brain whirled, and my eyesight grew dim.  Dark remembrances of robberies committed in vestries floated through my mind.  I trembled for the excellent man in full canonicals;—­I even trembled for the clerk.

The clergyman placed himself inside the altar rails.  The three desperadoes approached him.  He opened his book, and began to read.  What?—­you will ask.

I answer, without the slightest hesitation; the first lines of the Marriage Service.

My subordinate had the audacity to look at me, and then to stuff his pocket-handkerchief into his mouth.  I scorned to pay any attention to him.  After my own eyes had satisfied me that there was a parchment license in the clergyman’s hand, and that it was consequently useless to come forward and forbid the marriage,—­after I had seen this, and after I had discovered that the man “Jack”