what he was doin' down there and call for proof. Then, if he was only
takin' the meter, why--"

"Of course," says Waldo. "We will--er--you'll do that for me, will you
not? Come along, Tidman. You too, Peters. We'll just find out who
the fellow is."

I must say, it's kind of a draggy rush line they formed, Tidman havin'
to be almost pushed, and Peters keepin' well in the rear. I finds
myself leadin' the assault, with Waldo a bad second, but tellin' me
which turns to make and urgin' Tidman to follow close.

Sure enough, though, there on the laundry floor we discovers the
victorious Mrs. Flynn, a wide, husky party, with something flattened
underneath. About all that's visible is a pair of run-over shoes and
part of a coat sleeve that's been ripped off. She seems glad to see us.

"Thanks be!" says she, sighin' grateful. "It's faint and wake I am
strugglin' with this murderous little shrimp. Ah, squirm, will ye!
There's men to handle ye now, and the coppers'll soon be here. Will ye
take charge of him, Mr. Pettigrew?"

"No, no! Please, Mrs. Flynn!" protests Waldo. "You are doing
excellently. Don't let him up just yet."

"O-o-o-o!" moans the flattened gent. "My poor back!"

"If you could ease up a bit, so we might get a look at him," I
suggests. "We want to see if he's really a burglar."