"Sacrificed to public opinion? Yuss," said Judlip, pausing at a front
door and flashing his 45 c.p. down the slot of a two-grade Yale.
"Sacrificed to a parcel of screamin' old women wot ort ter 'ave gorn
down on their knees an' thanked Gawd for such a protector. 'E'll be
out in another 'alf year. Wot'll 'e do then, pore devil? Go a bust on
'is conduc' money an' throw in 'is lot with them same hexperts wot 'ad
a 'oly terror of 'im." Then Judlip swore gently.

"What should you do, O Great One, if ever it were your duty to
apprehend him?"

"Do? Why, yer blessed innocent, yer don't think I'd shirk a fair clean
cop? Same time, I don't say as 'ow I wouldn't 'andle 'im tender like,
for sake o' wot 'e wos. Likewise cos 'e'd be a stiff customer to
tackle. Likewise 'cos--"

He had broken off, and was peering fixedly upwards at an angle of 85°
across the moonlit street. "Ullo!" he said in a hoarse whisper.

Striking an average between the direction of his eyes--for Judlip,
when on the job, has a soul-stirring squint--I perceived someone in
the act of emerging from a chimney-pot.

Judlip's voice clove the silence. "Wot are yer doin' hup there?"

The person addressed came to the edge of the parapet. I saw then that
he had a hoary white beard, a red ulster with the hood up, and what
looked like a sack over his shoulder. He said something or other in a
voice like a concertina that has been left out in the rain.