For ten minutes he wrought with the blinding and suffocating snow, which, turn as he would, the wind kept dashing into his face, and then his failing limbs gave out and he sunk benumbed with cold upon the pavement.

Half buried in the snow, he was discovered soon afterward and carried to a police station, where he found himself next morning in one of the cells, a wretched, humiliated, despairing man.
"Why, Mr.Ridley! It can't be possible!" It was the exclamation of the police magistrate when this man was brought, soon after daylight, before him.
Ridley stood dumb in presence of the officer, who was touched by the helpless misery of his face.
"You were at Mr.Birtwell's ?" Ridley answered by a silent inclination of his head.
"I do not wonder," said the magistrate, his voice softening, "that, you lost your way in the storm last night.

You are not the only one who found himself astray and at fault.

Our men had to take care of quite a number of Mr.Birtwell's guests.

But I will not detain you, Mr.Ridley.
I am sorry this has happened.