Those three cowards did not wait to explain. Really before the words were out of his lips they were off down the lane like streaks of lightning. All my man left behind him was the smell of his horrid cloth. Beyond disarranging my hat and my hair, and that kind of thing, I knew that he had not damaged me almost before, so to speak, I examined myself to see.
“Has he hurt you?” asked the constable. “What was he trying to do?”
“He has not hurt me, thanks to you; but in another half second I’m quite sure he would have done. He was trying to chloroform me, or something frightful, I smelt it on his cloth.”
“Who’s this on the ground?”
It was Pollie. In my excitement I had quite forgotten to notice what had become of her. She lay all of a heap. Down I plumped on my knees beside her.
“Pollie!” I cried. “Has he killed you?”
“No fear,” said the policeman. “She’s only a bit queer. I shouldn’t be surprised if they’ve played the same sort of trick on her they tried to play on you.”
It was so. That policeman was a most intelligent man, and quite good-looking, with a fair moustache which turned up a little at the ends. They had endeavoured to stupefy her with some drug; the policeman said he didn’t think it was chloroform, it didn’t smell like it. I didn’t know—to my knowledge I have never smelt chloroform in my life, nor do I ever want to. They had so far succeeded that she had nearly lost her senses, but not entirely. When I lifted her head she gave several convulsive twitches, so that it was all I could do to retain my hold. Then she opened her eyes and she asked where she was.
“It’s all right,” I told her. “They’ve gone. I hope they haven’t hurt you.”
She sat up, and she looked about her. She saw me, and she saw the constable, which fact she at once made plain.
