No
other person besides Sammy was visible.
They led their prisoner indoors. Young Kentish recognized him as a
public-house loafer and race-course ruffian, well known in the
neighborhood.
"So it's you, is it, Browdie?" he said. "I've caught you one hard clump,
and I've half a mind to make it a score more. But you'll get it pretty
warm one way or another before this job's forgotten."
Sammy Crockett was overjoyed at his rescue. He had not been ill-treated,
he explained, but had been thoroughly cowed by Browdie, who had from time
to time threatened him savagely with an iron bar by way of persuading him
to quietness and submission. He had been fed, and had taken no worse harm
than a slight stiffness from his adventure, due to his light under-attire
of jersey and knee-shorts.
Sergeant Kentish tied Browdie's elbows firmly together behind, and carried
the line round the ankles, bracing all up tight. Then he ran a knot from
one wrist to the other over the back of the neck, and left the prisoner,
trussed and helpless, on the heap of straw that had been Sammy's bed.
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