Directly we had started our lonely patrol Granby gave what I may describe as his “bench” cough and began, “When I was at the court the other day a very curious case came before me.”  He was off.  If Granby delivers to prisoners in the dock the speeches he recites to me the Government ought to intervene.  No man however guilty ought to have a sentence and one of Granby’s orations.  He might be given the option.  Personally, for anything under fourteen days I should be tempted to serve the sentence.

Just when he was at his dreariest I heard a remarkable treble voice down a side-street singing, “Keep the Home Fires Burning.”  “Sounds like a drunk,” I said promptly; “we ought to investigate this.”  Had it been a couple of armed burglars I should have welcomed their advent if it stopped Granby.

We went down and found a stout lady sitting on the pavement warbling Songs Without Melody.

“Gerout, Zeppelin,” she observed as a flash-lamp was turned on her.

“A distinct case of intoxication plus incapability,” observed Granby.  “We must take her to the station.  You can charge her.  I have so many important engagements this week that I can’t spare time to be a witness.”

I saw that a wasted morning at the police-court was to be thrust on me.

“I also have many important engagements this week,” I replied.

“This duty is to be taken seriously—­” began Granby.

“Yes,” I said, “if we don’t run her in we ought to see her home.  She can’t stay here rousing the street.”

“That was what I was about to suggest as the proper course for you when you interrupted me,” said Granby.  “Where do you live?” he demanded.

“Fourteen, Benbow Avenue,” replied the lady; “and pore Uncle Sam’s been dead eleven years.”

“Come on,” I said.  “Get up and we’ll see you home.”

The lady pushed me aside, gripped Granby’s arm and said affectionately, “’Ow you remind me of pore ole Jim in ’is best days afore ’e got jugged!”

Granby snorted as he dragged the lady onward.  I think he knew that I was smiling in the darkness.

“Jus’ like ole times, when we was courtin’ together,” continued the lady.  “If it ‘adn’t been for a bronze-topped barmaid comin’ between us, what might ’ave been! ah, what might ’ave been!”

This tender reminiscence prompted the lady to sing, “Come to me, sweet Marie,” with incidental attempts at a step-dance.  The finale brought us to Benbow Avenue.

“I shall speak to her husband and caution him severely about his wife’s conduct,” said Granby to me.

I shrank into the background ready to move off directly the oration began.

Granby knocked at the door and it opened.

“I have brought your wife home in a state—­” he began.

“Ain’t I ’ad a nice young man to take me for a walk while you’ve been sitting guzzling by the fire?”