The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 8

"That's the sort, Wimble," said the constable. "Didn't think of a rope, did you?"

"Did I think of two ropes?" said Jem, grinning.

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the constable. "Now, Mike Bannock, I just warn you that any violence will make your case worse. Take my advice, get up and come quietly."

"Take young Don Lavington too, then, and I will."

"Get up, and walk quietly."

"Not 'less you takes him."

"Sorry to make a rumpus, sir," said the constable, apologetically; "but I must have him out."

"The sooner the better," said Uncle Josiah, grimly.

"I am ready to go, uncle," said Don, quietly. "I am not afraid."

"Hold your tongue, sir!" said the merchant, sternly; "and stand out of the way."

"Now, Mike," said the constable, "this is the third time of asking.

Will you come quiet?"

"Take him too," cried Mike.

"Ready with those ropes, Wimble. You two, ready with that there. Now, Mike Bannock, you've been asked three times, and now you've got to mount that ladder."

"Any man comes a-nigh me," roared Mike, "I'll--"

He did not say what, for the constable dashed at him, and by an ingenious twist avoided a savage kick, threw the scoundrel over on his face, as he lay on the floor, and sat upon him, retaining his seat in spite of his struggles.

"Step the first," said the constable, coolly. "Now, Wimble, I want that ladder pa.s.sed under me, so as to lie right along on his back. Do you see?"

"Yes, sir," cried Jem, eagerly; and taking the ladder as the constable sat astride the prostrate scoundrel, holding down his shoulders, and easing himself up, the ladder was pa.s.sed between the officer's legs, and, in spite of a good deal of heaving, savage kicking, and one or two fierce attempts to bite, right along till it was upon Mike's back, projecting nearly two feet beyond his head and feet.

"Murder!" yelled Mike, hoa.r.s.ely.

"What? Does it hurt, my lad? Never mind; you'll soon get used to it."

The constable seated himself upon the ladder, whose sides and rounds thoroughly imprisoned the scoundrel in spite of his yells and struggles to get free.

"Now then, Wimble, I've got him. You tie his ankles, one each side, tightly to the ladder, and one of you bind his arms same way to the ladder sides. Cut the rope. Mr Christmas will not mind."

The men grinned, and set to work so handily that in a few moments Mike was securely bound.

"Now then," said the constable, "I'll have one round his middle; give me a piece of rope; I'll soon do that."

He seized the rope, and, without rising, rapidly secured it to one side of the ladder.

"Now," he said, "raise that end."

This was done, the rope pa.s.sed under Mike, drawn up on the other side, hauled upon till Mike yelled for mercy, and then knotted twice.

"There, my lads," said the constable, rising; "now turn him over."

The ladder was seized, turned, and there lay Mike on his back, safely secured.

"Here, undo these," he said, sullenly. "I'll walk."

"Too late, Mike, my boy. Now then, a couple of men head and tail. Let the ladder hang at arm's length. Best have given in quietly, and not have made yourself a show, Mike."

"Don't I tell you I'll walk?" growled the prisoner. "And let us have all our trouble for nothing? No, my lad, it's too late. Ready there!

Up with him. Good morning, sir. March!"

The men lent themselves eagerly to the task, for Mike was thoroughly disliked; and a few minutes later there was a crowd gathering and following Mike Bannock as he was borne off, spread-eagled and half tipsy, to ponder on the theft and his chances in the cold damp place known in Bristol as the lock-up.

Don Lavington stood in the office, waiting for his uncle to speak.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A STUBBORN DISPOSITION.

"Stop!"

Don had taken his hat, and, seeing his uncle apparently immersed in a letter, was about to yield to his curiosity and follow the constable, when, as he reached the door, his uncle's word thundered out and made him turn and go on with his writing in response to a severe look and a pointing finger.

From time to time the boy looked up furtively as he sat, and wondered why his uncle did not say anything more about the money.

But the time glided on, and the struggle between his desire to speak out frankly and his indignant wounded pride continued.

A dozen times over he was on the point of crossing to the stern-looking old man, and begging him to listen and believe, but Uncle Josiah sat there with the most uncompromising of expressions on his face, and Don dared not speak. He dared not trust himself for very shame, as the incident had so upset him, that he felt sure that he must break down and cry like a child if he attempted to explain.

After a time there was the sound of voices talking and laughing, and the click of the heavy latch of the gate. Then through the open windows came the deep _burr burr_ of Jem's ba.s.s, and the shrill inquiring tones of Sally Wimble, as she eagerly questioned her lord.

Then there were steps, some of which pa.s.sed the office door; and Don, as he sat with his head bent over a ledger, knew exactly whose steps those were, and where the makers of those steps were going to the different warehouses in the great yard.

Directly after Jem's foot was heard, and he tapped at the door, pushed it a little way, and waited.

"Come in," said Uncle Josiah, sharply.

Jem entered, doffing his c.o.c.ked hat, and casting a sympathising look at Don, who raised his head. Then seeing that his employer was deeply immersed in the letter he was writing, Jem made a series of gesticulations with his hat, supplemented by some exceedingly queer grimaces, all meant as a kind of silent language, which was very expressive, but quite incomprehensible to Don.

"Well?" said Uncle Josiah, sharply.

"Beg pardon, sir! Thought you'd like to hear how we got on?"

"Well?"