"Now then," it said, "what's all this?"

A stout figure in policeman's uniform was standing surveying them with
the aid of a small bull's-eye lantern.

"What's all this?"

"It's all right," said Wyatt.

"All right, is it? What's on?"

One of the prisoners spoke.

"Make 'em leave hold of us, Mr. Butt. They're a-going to chuck us in
the pond."

"Ho!" said the policeman, with a change in his voice. "Ho, are they?
Come now, young gentleman, a lark's a lark, but you ought to know
where to stop."

"It's anything but a lark," said Wyatt in the creamy voice he used
when feeling particularly savage. "We're the Strong Right Arm of
Justice. That's what we are. This isn't a lark, it's an execution."

"I don't want none of your lip, whoever you are," said Mr. Butt,
understanding but dimly, and suspecting impudence by instinct.

"This is quite a private matter," said Wyatt. "You run along on your
beat. You can't do anything here."