The partners read this note differently.  Bolt saw timidity in it.  Little saw a conviction, and a quiet resolution, that foreboded a stern contest.

No reply was sent, and the machines went on coining.

Then came a warning to Little, not violent, but short, and rather grim. 
Little took it to Bolt, and he treated it with contempt.

Two days afterward the wheel-bands vanished, and the obnoxious machines stood still.

Little was for going to Grotait, to try and come to terms.  Bolt declined.  He bought new bands, and next day the machines went on again.

This pertinacity soon elicited a curious epistle: 

“Messrs.  Bolt and little,—­When the blood is in an impure state, brimstone and treacle is applied as a mild purgative; our taking the bands was the mild remedy; but, should the seat of disease not be reached, we shall take away the treacle, and add to the brimstone a necessary quantity of saltpetre and charcoal.

“TANTIA topee.”

On receipt of this, Little, who had tasted the last-mentioned drugs, showed such undisguised anxiety that Bolt sent for Ransome.  He came directly, and was closeted with the firm.  Bolt handed him the letters, told him the case, and begged leave to put him a question.  “Is the police worth any thing, or nothing, in this here town?”

“It is worth something, I hope, gentlemen.”

“How much, I wonder?  Of all the bands that have been stolen, and all the people that have been blown up, and scorched and vitrioled, and shot at, and shot, by Union men, did ever you and your bobbies nail a single malefactor?”

Now Mr. Ransome was a very tall man, with a handsome, dignified head, a long black beard, and pleasant, dignified manners.  When short, round, vulgar Mr. Bolt addressed him thus, it really was like a terrier snapping at a Newfoundland dog.  Little felt ashamed, and said Mr. Ransome had been only a few months in office in the place.  “Thank you, Mr. Little,” said the chief constable.  “Mr Bolt, I’ll ask you a favor.  Meet me at a certain place this evening, and let me reply to your question then and there.”

This singular proposal excited some curiosity, and the partners accepted the rendezvous.  Ransome came to the minute, and took the partners into the most squalid part of this foul city.  At the corner of a narrow street he stepped and gave a low whistle.  A policeman in plain clothes came to him directly.

“They are both in the ‘Spotted Dog,’ sir, with half a dozen more.”

“Follow me, and guard the door.  Will you come, too, gentlemen?”

The “Spotted Dog” was a low public, with one large room and a sanded floor.  Mr. Ransome walked in and left the door open, so that his three companions heard and saw all that passed.

“Holland and Cheetham, you are wanted.”

“What for?”

“Wilde’s affair.  He has come to himself, and given us your names.”