"You blackguard!"

A rich, deep, soft, soothing voice slid into the heated scene like
the Holy Grail sliding athwart a sunbeam.

"What's all this?"

A vast policeman had materialized from nowhere. He stood beside
them, a living statue of Vigilant Authority. One thumb rested
easily on his broad belt. The fingers of the other hand caressed
lightly a moustache that had caused more heart-burnings among the
gentler sex than any other two moustaches in the C-division. The
eyes above the moustache were stern and questioning.

"What's all this?"

George liked policemen. He knew the way to treat them. His voice,
when he replied, had precisely the correct note of respectful
deference which the Force likes to hear.

"I really couldn't say, officer," he said, with just that air of
having in a time of trouble found a kind elder brother to help him
out of his difficulties which made the constable his ally on the
spot. "I was standing here, when this man suddenly made his
extraordinary attack on me. I wish you would ask him to go away."

The policeman tapped the stout young man on the shoulder.

"This won't do, you know!" he said austerely. "This sort o' thing
won't do, 'ere, you know!"