We have to get at the bottom of this.

This is no place to argue." A moment later the hansom, with a bent axle, was hobbling its way down the street engineered by bluecoats.

Hugh, seeing that it was useless to remonstrate, sank back in the seat and swore audibly.
"Don't worry about it, Hugh," said a soft voice in his ear.

"We can explain, can't we ?" "You can't explain anything to asses, Grace," he lamented, "especially if they wear buttons." They lapsed into a mournful, regretful silence.
For five full minutes the hansom wobbled painfully along and then pulled up in front of a building which Hugh lugubriously recognized as a police station.

"We've got to make the best of it, dear.