Old Jenny stood talking to the younger member of the force.  When she didn’t hear him she cooed in the soft, sweet way of deaf women; and her genial laugh told Mike that the policeman was not wrong when he described her as a real good sort.  She spoke of her last ’bus, and on being told the time gathered up her skirts and ran up the Lane.

Then the policemen related anecdotes concerning their own and the general amativeness of the Temple.

“But, lor, sir, it is nothing now to what it used to be!  Some years ago, half the women of London used to be in here of a night; now there’s very little going on—­an occasional kick up, but nothing to speak of.”

“What are you laughing at?” said Mike, looking from one to the other.

The policemen consulted each other, and then one said—­

“You didn’t hear about the little shindy we had here last night, sir?  It was in Elm Court, just behind you, sir.  We heard some one shouting for the police; we couldn’t make out where the shouting came from first, we were looking about—­the echo in these Courts makes it very difficult to say where a voice comes from.  At last we saw the fellow at the window, and we went up.  He met us at the door.  He said, ’Policemen, the lady knocked at my door and asked for a drink; I didn’t notice that she was drunk, and I gave her a brandy-and-soda, and before I could stop her she undressed herself!’ There was the lady right enough, in her chemise, sitting in the arm-chair, as drunk as a lord, humming and singing as gay, sir, as any little bird.  Then the party says, ‘Policeman, do your duty!’ I says, ‘What is my duty?’ He says, ‘Policeman, I’ll report you!’ I says, ’Report yourself.  I knows my duty.’  He says, ‘Policeman, remove that woman!’ I says, ’I can’t remove her in that state.  Tell her to dress herself and I’ll remove her.’  Well, the long and the short of it, sir, is, that we had to dress her between us, and I never had such a job.”

The exceeding difficulties of this toilette, as narrated by the stolid policeman, made Mike laugh consummately.  Then alternately, and in conjunction, the policemen told stories concerning pursuits through the areas and cellars with which King’s Bench Walk abounds.

“It was from Paper Buildings that the little girl came from who tried to drown herself in the fountain.”

“Oh, I haven’t heard about her,” said Mike.  “She tried to drown herself in the fountain, did she?  Crossed in love; tired of life; which was it?”

“Neither, sir; she was a bit drunk, that was about it.  My mate could tell you about her, he pulled her out.  She’s up before the magistrate to-day again.”

“Just fancy, bringing a person up before a magistrate because she wanted to commit suicide!  Did any one ever hear such rot?  If our own persons don’t belong to us, I don’t know what does.  But tell me about her.”

“She went up to see a party that lives in Pump Court.  We was at home, so she picks up her skirts, runs across here, and throws herself in.  I see her run across, and follows her; but I had to get into the water to get her out; I was wet to the waist—­there’s about four feet of water in that ’ere fountain.”