Chickweed in apprehending the man as robbed his house. ‘I see him, Spyers,’ said Chickweed, ‘pass my house yesterday morning.’ ‘Why didn’t you up, and collar him?’ says Spyers. ‘I was so struck all of a heap, that you might have fractured my skull with a toothpick,’ says the poor man; ‘but we’re sure to have him; for between ten and eleven o’clock at night he passed again.’ Spyers no sooner heard this, than he put some clean linen and a comb, in his pocket, in case he should have to stop a day or two; and away he goes, and sets himself down at one of the public-house windows behind the little red curtain, with his hat on, all ready to bolt out, at a moment’s notice. He was smoking his pipe here, late at night, when all of a sudden Chickweed roars out, ‘Here he is! Stop thief! Murder!’ Jem Spyers dashes out; and there he sees Chickweed, a-tearing down the street full cry. Away goes Spyers; on goes Chickweed; round turns the people; everybody roars out, ‘Thieves!’ and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting, all the time, like mad. Spyers loses sight of him a minute as he turns a corner; shoots round; sees a little crowd; dives in; ‘Which is the man?’ ‘D⁠⸺⁠me!’ says Chickweed, ‘I’ve lost him again!’ It was a remarkable occurrence, but he warn’t to be seen nowhere, so they went back to the public-house.