Abbey of the Ves'minster----"

Before P. C. Collins could tell her that if that were her destination,
she was a good deal out of her latitude, indeed, even before she
concluded what she was saying, over the rumble of the traffic there rose
a thin, shrill, piping sound, which to ears trained to its call
possessed a startling significance.

It was the shrilling of a police whistle far off down the Embankment.

"Hullo! That's a call to the man on point," exclaimed Collins, all alert
at once. "Excuse me, mum. See you presently. Something's up. One of my
mates is a-signalling me."

"Mates, monsieur? Mates? Signalling? I shall not unnerstand the vords.
But yes, vat shall that mean--eh?"

"Good Lord, don't bother me now! I--I mean, wait a bit. That's the call
to 'head off' some one, and---- By George! there he is now, coming head
on, the hound, and running like the wind!"

For of a sudden, through a break in the traffic, a scudding figure had
sprung into sight. It was the figure of a man in a gray frock-coat and a
shining "topper," a well-groomed, well-set-up man, with a small,
turned-up moustache and hair of a peculiar reddish shade. As he swung
into sight, the distant whistle shrilled again; far off in the distance
voices sent up cries of "Head him off!" "Stop that man!" etcetera; then
those on the pavement near to the fugitive took up the cry, joined in
pursuit, and in a twinkling, what with cabmen, tram-men, draymen, and
pedestrians all shouting, there was hubbub enough for Hades.

"A swell pickpocket, I'll lay my life," commented Collins, as he squared
himself for an encounter and made ready to leap on the man when he came
within gripping distance. "Here! get out of the way, madmazelly.
Business before pleasure. And, besides, you're like to get bowled over
in the rush. Here, chauffeur!"--this to the driver of a big, black
motor-car which swept round the angle of the bridge at that moment, and
made as though to scud down the Embankment into the thick of the
chase--"pull that thing up sharp! Stop where you are! Dead still! At
once, at once, do you hear? We don't want you getting in the way. Now,
then"--nodding his head in the direction of the running man--"come on,
you bounder; I'm ready for you!"

And, as if he really heard that invitation, and really were eager to
accept it, the red-headed man did "come on" with a vengeance. And all
the time, "madmazelly," unheeding Collins's advice, stood calmly and
silently w