Presently he asked, casually, “Where was the child he wanted to get hold of?  In Woodend Lane?”

“Yes—­I mean I dunno.  I don’t know nothing about it.”

“I only asked, ’cause we’ve had word to keep a look-out for a man, probably with a caravan, who has stolen a child and a dog from Wood—­”

“Why, look, what’s that over there?” interrupted Bob, in sudden excitement.

“That over there” was a shabby brown caravan, hung about with tins and brushes, standing beneath a high hedge in a corner of a distant field.  From the road beneath it, it would not be visible to any passer-by, but looking across country as they were the glitter of the tins flashing in the rays of the morning sun caught the eye, and discovered the van in its hiding-place.

“Here goes!” cried the policeman, excitedly.  “A chap don’t get a chance like this every day.  Come along, young fellow, and don’t make a noise.”

Avoiding every possible risk of being observed approaching, Bob Thorp, led by the constable, made his way to the field where the caravan stood.  Tethered to the hedge close by was Charlie, and securely roped to the van lay poor Dick.

“That’s the dog,” whispered Bob Thorp, excitedly.

Dick growled slightly at the faint sounds which now reached him, and more violently when he recognised his old enemy.

“Lie down, can’t you?” bellowed a hoarse voice, roughly; and walking cautiously round to the front of the van they found the very man they were in search of lying on the ground rolled in a rug, with a couple of sacks over him.  At the sight of Bob Thorp and the policeman he sprang to his feet at once.

“Anything you want, gentlemen?  Anything I can sell you?” he asked, impudently.  “A nice scrubbing-brush or—­”

“’Tis you needs the scrubbing-brush, by the looks on you,” said Bob, cheekily.

“And I want you,” said the constable, sharply.

“Want me?  What for?” he demanded, indignantly; but his face had suddenly turned an unhealthy gray colour, and in his eyes they could plainly read his alarm.

“Passing bad money,” answered the policeman, quietly.

“Who says so?  Who brought that charge against me?”

“’Im,” the policeman jerked his head and his thumb towards Bob.

“And who’s he, that his word should be took agin mine?  Who’s to say he hasn’t been passing it himself, and—­and of course he’s got to put it off on someone, when he’s found out.”

“Well, you can fight that out before the magistrates.  You’ve got to come along of me now.  If you can explain it, that is all right, and you will soon be back again.”

“All right,” said Tom, agreeing, because he saw the uselessness of holding out.  His brain was busy, though, trying to think out a plan.  “I must just step inside, and break it to my wife—­”

“Oh yes, and empty your pockets of all the rest of the bad money you’ve got!” burst out Bob, unable to control himself.  “Likely tale that, eh!”