“I didn’t, it wasn’t,” the man stuttered, his face almost green in hue, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

Mr. Vermont smiled.  He had his man safe and sound.

“Who the fiend are you?” commenced Wilfer, recovering himself; but Vermont’s smooth voice interrupted him.

“I was right, I see!  What a strange coincidence, Mr. Wilfer, that I should see your really admirable Rubens in the afternoon, and run against—­or perhaps I should say, knock you down—­in the evening.”

Mr. Wilfer was goaded to desperation.

“Look here,” he almost shouted, “I don’t care if you’re the old ’un himself; but that’s enough of your jaw.  What’s your game anyhow?  S’pose you did see me in a pub at Canterbury along of a young party, s’pose I am an artist, an’ I did sell an old master, that ain’t no business of yours; that don’t give you the right to knock me down or interfere with me, so now then!”

“Finished?” inquired Vermont, pleasantly.  “I quite agree with you, Mr. Wilfer—­on some points; but it is greatly my business, as you will see.  Had I not come up at that moment, I wonder if my friend would be as safe as he is now.”

“Your friend,” echoed the other.  “Is Mr. Adrien Leroy your friend?”

“He is indeed,” replied Jasper with a grin.  “Now suppose you tell me what you two gentleman were discussing.”

“Suppose I don’t?” retorted Wilfer insolently.  “You find out for yourself, if you’re so clever, Mr. Know-all; I’m off.”  He tried to push past Vermont and thus effect his escape; but he was not to get off so lightly.

Jasper removed his cigar, which he had been puffing, and dropping his soft, mocking tone, said sternly: 

“Stand back; go and sit on that bench.  I haven’t done with you yet, Johann Wilfer.”

“I shan’t,” was that worthy’s prompt answer.

“Then I shall call the police,” returned Vermont, pulling out his silver cab-whistle.

Wilfer started back.

“Call ’em,” he said defiantly.  “I don’t care.  What’s the police to me, as I should be scared of ’em?”

“A great deal,” was the calm answer.  “If you are mad enough to disobey me, I shall whistle for the police; they will find me struggling with a most villainous-looking ruffian, whom I instantly give in charge for assault and robbery of my dear friend, Mr. Leroy, who has gone in search of assistance.”

“It’s all a lie,” shouted Wilfer furiously.

“Appearances would be too strongly against you, my friend.  The law is ’a hass,’ as doubtless you have heard before; and when it comes in the shape of a blue-coated, helmeted and thick-headed policeman, whose word do you think would be believed, yours or mine?—­to say nothing of this evidence.”  Stooping, he picked up Leroy’s gold watch and chain, which had fallen from his pocket during his struggle with Wilfer.  “I found this is your hand.  A clear case of assault and robbery, with penal servitude to follow.”