Mr. Quince went through the performance of feeling in all his pockets,
and then stood meditatively rubbing his chin.

"The door's locked," he said, slowly, "and what I've done with that there
key----"

"You open that door," vociferated Mr. Rose, "else I'll break it in.
You've got my daughter in that shed and I'm going to have her out."

"Your daughter?" said Mr. Quince, with an air of faint surprise. "What
should she be doing in my shed?"

"You let her out," stormed Mr. Rose, trying to push past him.

"Don't trespass on my premises," said Lawyer Quince, interposing his
long, gaunt frame. "If you want that door opened you'll have to wait
till my boy Ned comes home. I expect he knows where to find the key."

Mr. Rose's hands fell limply by his side and his tongue, turning prudish,
refused its office. He turned and stared at Mr. Hogg in silent
consternation.

"Never known him to be beaten yet," said that admiring weather-cock.

"Ned's been away three days," said the shoemaker, "but I expect him home
soon."

Mr. Rose made a strange noise in his throat and then, accepting his
defeat, set off at a rapid pace in the direction of home. In a
marvellously short space of time, considering his age and figure, he was