Upon this, more cautiously, was placed by invisible hands a very old saddle without any stirrups.
The policeman stepped back a little, and flattened himself--comparatively speaking--against the outer wall of the hostel itself.

There followed a silence.
Suddenly, without any warning, a heavy body, discernible a moment later as a small carpet-bag, filled to bursting, fell abruptly on to the pavement; and, again, a moment later, two capable-looking hands made their appearance, grasping with extreme care the central rod on which the spikes were supposed to revolve, on either side of the saddle.
Still the policeman did not make any sign; he only sidled a step or two nearer and stood waiting.
When he looked up again, a young gentleman, in flannel trousers, gray jacket, boots, and an old deerstalker, was seated astride of the saddle, with his back to the observer.

There was a pause while the rider looked to this side and that; and then, with a sudden movement, he had dropped clear of the wall, and come down on feet and hands to the pavement.
"Good morning, officer!" said the young gentleman, rising and dusting his hands, "it's all right.

Like to see my _exeat_?
Or perhaps half a crown--" (V) About six o'clock in the morning, Jack Kirkby awoke suddenly in his bedroom in Jesus Lane.
This was very unusual, and he wondered what it was all about.

He thought of Frank almost instantly, with a jerk, and after looking at his watch, very properly turned over and tried to go to sleep again.