'Policeman! Where's the policeman?
Here, swear this policeman.

Now, policeman, what is this ?' The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the charge; how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how that was all he knew about it.
'Are there any witnesses ?' inquired Mr.Fang.
'None, your worship,' replied the policeman.
Mr.Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the prosecutor, said in a towering passion.
'Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, or do you not?
You have been sworn.

Now, if you stand there, refusing to give evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench; I will, by--' By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk and jailor coughed very loud, just at the right moment; and the former dropped a heavy book upon the floor, thus preventing the word from being heard--accidently, of course.
With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr.Brownlow contrived to state his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after the boy because he had saw him running away; and expressing his hope that, if the magistrate should believe him, although not actually the thief, to be connected with the thieves, he would deal as leniently with him as justice would allow.
'He has been hurt already,' said the old gentleman in conclusion.

'And I fear,' he added, with great energy, looking towards the bar, 'I really fear that he is ill.' 'Oh! yes, I dare say!' said Mr.Fang, with a sneer.

'Come, none of your tricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do.