was what a pair of hands like steel clamps caught his arm, an’ he found himself chucked into the street, an’ the door banged.
Nick an’ the feller Peter waited for ten minutes bangin’ at the door an’ askin’ Simmons to be a man an’ come out an’ be smashed, but Simmons took no notice, an’ just then I strolled up and cleared away the little crowd that had collected.
“Nick was so wild that he wouldn’t go at first, but I persuaded him, first by kind words, an’ then by a smack on the head. After that I got the tip that the boys were waitin’ for Mr. Simmons to do him in, an’ when I saw him I gave him a friendly warnin’. He smiled as though the idea of his being done in was an amusin’ one, but knew our lads too well to see any joke in it.
“Sure enough they laid for him, six of the brightest boys in Nottin’ Dale.
“The first I knew about it was from hearin’ shouts of ‘Murder!’ an’’Police!’ an’ I ran as fast as I could, blowin’ my whistle.
“I found Simmons with his back to the wall, his head bleedin’ but grinnin’ cheerfully. He had a life preserver his han’ an’ two of the lads was sleepin’ peacefully on the pavement.
“‘Hullo,’ says Simmons, ‘just in time.’
“‘Was that you shoutin’?’ I says.
“‘Not me,’ says he, with a chuckle. ‘I rather think it was a gent named Moss — you’ll know him by the bump on his forehead.’
“They left Simmons alone after this. They used to scowl at him, an’ he used to grin at them, but they never tried any more tricks. Nick Moss was rather bitter.
“‘A little feller like that didn’t ought to be strong — do he, Mr. Lee?’ he says indignantly. ‘It’s deceptful, that’s what I call it.’
“Failin’ to get satisfaction in one way they tried another. They did their best to put him away. There wasn’t a thief in London, nor a receivin’ shop either, where they not did make inquiries to find out what Simmons’ particular hobby was. But for a long time they worked without any result.
“One day this chap Peter I told you about was standin’ on the arrival platform at Euston, an’ he sees Simmons get out of the Manchester train. Peter was a bag-claimer an’ used to do quite an extensive line of business at big railway stations, pickin’ up other people’s bags beggin’ pardon if they found him at it, an’ he was too busy to think much about Simmons till that night when he was talking things over to Nick at the little pub.
“‘Manchester!’ says Nick, quite upset. ‘Lord love a duck! Why, ain’t you heard the news?’
“‘No,’ says Peter.
“‘The Manchester an’ Salisbury Bank was cleared out last night — eight thousand pounds taken an’ the chap got clear away.’
“Peter whistled.
“‘He’s one of the swell mob, that’s what he is.’ Says Nick excited, ‘an’ if I don’t put him away my name’s not Nick Moss.’ Which as a matter of fact,” commented P.C. Lee thoughtfully, “it wasn’t.
“‘Go out an’ get a late paper,’ says Nick, tremblin’ with excitement; ‘perhaps there’ll be a description of the feller that did it.’
“So Peter went out an’ bought one, an’ together they read it over.
“‘Here it is,’ says Nick, who ain’t much of a reader. “Thomas Cadaver was executed this mornin’ at Manchester for — no, that ain’t it — here we are—’ an’ he read in the late news: ‘“Description of the suspected man: short, strongly built, clean shaven, wearing a black bowler hat—”
‘That’s him for a dollar,’ says Nick, an’ round they came to me with the paper. I was just goin’ on duty at time.
“‘Mr. Lee,’ says Nick, ‘we’ve got a good thing for you.’
“Good,’ I says. ‘Did you buy it or find it?’
“‘It’s the Manchester Bank bloke,’ says Nick, very solemn, an’ handed me the paper. I read it carefully.
“‘I’ll take it down to the station,’ I says.
“There was a lot of news in the paper that night, but the news that mostly interested the boys was that Crawley Hopper had been found not guilty. There was some technical mistake in framin’ the indictment, an’ the evidence was a bit contradictory an’ between the two Crawley got off.
He was discharged at six o’clock, an’ I met him at eight. He come up to me, an’ I could see he’d been celebratin’ the occasion, for he was what I’d call ‘nasty drunk’.
“‘Hullo, P.C. Lee,’ he says, ‘seen my missis?’
“‘Which one’?’ I says.
“‘You know which one, he says with an ugly look, ‘the one that gave me away.’
“‘Don’t talk foolish,’ I says, ‘nobody gave you away,’
“‘All right,’ he says, turnin’ to go, ‘I’ll know all about it very soon.’
“There are instincts that come to a man,” said P.C. Lee gravely, “that oughtn’t to be suppressed. My instinct told me to arrest him — on any charge. To give him a night at the station. But I hesitated. He’d just been released from prison an’ was naturally excited. I didn’t want to kick a man who was down, so I let him go.
“At eleven thirty I was in Pointer Street, when I saw him comin’ towards me. There was somethin’ in his air that I didn’t like, an’ I stopped him.
“‘Where are you goin’, Crawley?’ I says.
“He sort of hesitated before he answered; then he ran. But I caught him in a dozen yards.
“‘Let go!’ he hissed an’ he struck at me.
“It was a stingin’ blow in the face, an’ I felt somethin’ warm an’ sticky. I thought he must have used a knife me, so I took my stick to him an’ that quietened him.
“With the help of another constable I got him to the station.
“My face was covered with blood, but I couldn’t feel the cut, an’ as soon as I got him into the steel pen the Station Inspector ordered one of the men to go for the divisional surgeon.
“Then Crawley spoke.
“‘It’s all right,’ he says in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘he not wounded.’
“‘Where did the blood come from?’ says the Inspector.
‘Off my hands,’ says Crawley, and showed us.
“‘I’ve done in my missis,’ he says simply.
“An’ it was the truth, for we found the poor creature stone dead in her
