"Hallo!" said I, sitting up straighter and rubbing my eyes.
"Constable, sir," explained Smithers, "with a message for you.
Says he must see you personally."
The constable spoke while I stared at him, my eyes blinking under the
bed-light. "It's a dream," I was telling myself. "Silly kind of
dream--"
"Gentleman in the Ensor Street Police Court, sir. Requires bail
till to-morrow--till ten-thirty this morning, I should have said.
Gave your name for surety." The constable announced this in a firm
bass voice, respectful but business-like. "Said he was a friend of
yours."
"What's his name?" I demanded.
"Gave the name of James Collingwood, sir--and this same address."
I gasped. "Jimmy?--Oh, I beg your pardon, Constable!--What has Mr.
Collingwood been doing?"
"He's _charged_, sir," the constable answered carefully, "with
resisting the police in the execution of their duty."
"What duty?"
"There was another gent took up, sir: and I may say, between
ourselves, as your friend, sir, put up a bit of a fight for him.
Very nimble with his fists he was, sir, or so I heard it mentioned.
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