Mr. Sims, suddenly enlightened, uttered a cry of dismay and, darting
under the table, picked up what had once been a policeman's helmet. Then
he snatched a partially consumed truncheon from the fire, and stood white
and trembling before the astonished Mr. Gunnill.
"What's the matter?" inquired the latter. "You--you've spoilt 'em,"
gasped Mr. Sims. "What of it?" said Mr. Gunnill, staring.
"I was--going to take 'em away," stammered Mr. Sims.
"Well, they'll be easier to carry now," said Mr. Drill, simply.
Mr. Sims glanced at him sharply, and then, to the extreme astonishment of
Mr. Gunnill, snatched up the relics and, wrapping them up in the paper,
dashed out of the house. Mr. Gunnill turned a look of blank inquiry upon
Mr. Drill.
"It wasn't Cooper's number on the helmet," said that gentleman.
"Eh?" shouted Mr. Gunnill.
"How do you know?" inquired Selina.
"I just happened to notice," replied Mr. Drill. He reached down as
though to take up the carpet-bag which he had placed by the side of his
chair, and then, apparently thinking better of it, leaned back in his
seat and eyed Mr. Gunnill.
"Do you mean to tell me," said the latter, "that he's been and upset the
wrong man?"
Mr. Drill shook his head.
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