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138 so hilariously? Had he witnessed any of those nocturnal preparations—or interments?

At last, at the corner of Bishop's Road, we wished him farewell and turned away. Then, at a respectable distance, we drew into a gateway to watch. He remained standing where we had left him for some ten minutes or so, until a constable slowly approached, and, halting, began to chat to him.

Apparently he was a well-known figure, for we could hear the policeman speaking, and could distinguish the poor fellow laughing that queer, harsh, discordant laugh—the laugh of the idiot.

Presently the constable moved forward again, whereupon I said—

"I'll get on and have a chat with the policeman, Jack. You follow the hunchback if he moves away."

"Right-ho," replied my friend, while I sped off, crossing the road and making a detour until I met the constable.

Having wished him good-night, I inquired the identity of the deformed youth.

"Oh, sir," he laughed, "that's Mad 'Arry. 'E's quite 'armless. 'E's out most nights, but we never see 'im in the day, poor chap. I've known 'im ever since he was about nine."

"Does no work, I suppose?"

"None. 'Ow can 'e? 'E's as mad as a hatter, as the sayin' goes," replied the constable, his thumbs hitched in his belt as he stood.

"A kind of midnight wanderer, eh?"

"Yes, 'e's always a-pryin' about at night. Not