In the last, desperate straits of an emergency, many a woman’s wits ring truer than a man’s.  When she had kissed him and departed on her errand to lock the front door he realized that her counsel was good.

He left the pistols on the wall.  As he ran into the yard, he got a glimpse, through the sitting-room window, of the constables standing in solemn row.  Never were innocent members of committee of notification more blissfully unconscious of what they had escaped.  They were blandly gazing at the Cap’n’s curios ranged on mantel and what-not.

It was a snort from Constable Swanton that gave the alarm.  Mr. Nute’s team was spinning away down the road, the wagon-wheels throwing slush with a sort of fireworks effect.  Cap’n Sproul, like most sailors, was not a skilful driver, but he was an energetic one.  The horse was galloping.

“He’s bound for the town house before he’s been notified officially,” stammered Mr. Swanton.

“It ain’t regular,” said Constable Wade.

Mr. Nute made no remark.  He looked puzzled, but he acted promptly.  He found the front door locked and the kitchen door locked.  But the window-catches were on the inside, and he slammed up the nearest sash and leaped out.  The others followed.  The pursuit was on as soon as they could get to their wagons, Mr. Wade riding with the chief constable.

The town house of Smyrna is on the main road leading to the railway-station.  The constables, topping a hill an eighth of a mile behind the fugitive, expected to see him turn in at the town house.  But he tore past, his horse still on the run, the wagon swaying wildly as he turned the corner beyond the Merrithew sugar orchard.

“Well, I swow,” grunted Mr. Nute, and licked on.

The usual crowd of horse-swappers was gathered in the town-house yard, and beheld this tumultuous passage with professional interest.  And, recognizing the first selectman-elect of Smyrna, their interest had an added flavor.

Next came the two teams containing the constables, lashing past on the run.  They paid no attention to the amazed yells of inquiry from the horse-swappers, and disappeared behind the sugar orchard.

“You’ve got me!” said Uncle Silas Drake to the first out-rush of the curious from the town house.  In his amazement, Uncle Silas was still holding to the patient nose of the horse whose teeth he had been examining.  “They went past like soft-soap slidin’ down the suller stairs, and that’s as fur’s I’m knowin’.  But I want to remark, as my personal opinion, that a first seeleckman of this town ought to be ‘tendin’ to his duties made and pervided, instead of razooin’ hosses up and down in front of this house when town meetin’ is goin’ on.”

One by one, voters, mumbling their amazement, unhitched their horses and started along the highway in the direction the fugitives had taken.  It seemed to all that this case required to be investigated.  The procession whipped along briskly and noisily.