When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. Michelle’s eyes widened. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel.
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