The Great Sid, having chewed his straw for a while in silence,
delivered judgment. The prisoner should have the benefit of the doubt
this time. His story, however unplausible, might possibly be true.
Officer Keating undoubtedly had pinched him. That was in his favour.

"You can hop it this time," he said, "but if you ever do start
smitchin', Spider, yer knows what'll happen."

Mr. Buffin withdrew, quaking.

Matters had now come to a head. Unless he very speedily gave proof
of his pure and noble intentions, life would become extremely unsafe
for him. He must act at once. The thought of what would happen should
another of the Frith Streeters be pinched before he, Mr. Buffin, could
prove himself innocent of the crime of friendliness with Officer Keating,
turned him cold.

Fate played into his hands. On the very next morning Mr. Keating, all
unsuspecting, asked him to go to his home with a message for his wife.

"Tell her," said Mr. Keating, "a newspaper gent has given me seats for
the play to-night, and I'll be home at a quarter to seven."

Mr. Buffin felt as Cromwell must have felt at Dunbar when the Scots
left their stronghold on the hills and came down to the open plain.

The winter had set in with some severity that year, and Mr. Buffin's
toes, as he stood in the shadows close to the entrance of the villa
where Officer Keating lived when off duty, were soon thoroughly frozen.