He came to a sudden halt, as a red limousine--_the_ red
limousine he knew so well--whirled up to the pavement's edge, stopped
in front of him with a grinding of brakes, a door flashed open, and he
heard the sound of a sharp order given in that one unmistakable voice.
Mr. Cleek was there, followed by Dollops, close at his heels, and looking
as though they had torn through hell itself to get there in time.
Petrie took a hurried step forward and swung back the big iron gate still
farther.
"In time, Petrie?" Cleek asked breathlessly.
"Just about, sir. Near shave, though, from what I see of the people
a-comin' out. 'Eard the case 'ad gone against Sir Nigel, sir--poor chap.
'Ere, you, Dollops--"
But Dollops was gone in his master's wake, in his arms a huge, ungainly
bundle that looked like a stove-pipe wrapped up in brown paper, gone
through the courtroom door, without so much as passing the time of day
with an old pal. Petrie felt distinctly hurt about it, and sauntered back
to his place with his smile gone, while Cleek, hurrying through the
crowded court room and passing, by the sheer power of his name, the
various court officials who would have stopped him, stopped only as he
reached the space before the judge's bench.
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