CONTENTS

         While SWEEDLE is putting it down on COKESON's table, the detective, WISTER, enters the outer office, and, finding no one there, comes to the inner doorway. He is a square, medium-sized man, clean-shaved, in a serviceable blue serge suit and strong boots.       

       COKESON. [Hoarsely] Here! Here! What are we doing?     

       WISTER. [To WALTER] From Scotland Yard, sir. Detective-Sergeant Blister.     

       WALTER. [Askance] Very well! I'll speak to my father.     

CONTENTS

         He goes into the partners' room. JAMES enters.       

       JAMES. Morning! [In answer to an appealing gesture from COKESON] I'm sorry; I'd stop short of this if I felt I could. Open that door. [SWEEDLE, wondering and scared, opens it] Come here, Mr. Falder.     

CONTENTS

         As FALDER comes shrinkingly out, the detective in obedience to a sign from JAMES, slips his hand out and grasps his arm.       

       FALDER. [Recoiling] Oh! no,—oh! no!     

       WALTER. Come, come, there's a good lad.     

       JAMES. I charge him with felony.     

       FALTER. Oh, sir! There's some one—I did it for her. Let me be till to-morrow.     

CONTENTS

         JAMES motions with his hand. At that sign of hardness, FALDER becomes rigid. Then, turning, he goes out quietly in the detective's grip. JAMES follows, stiff and erect. SWEEDLE, rushing to the door with open mouth, pursues them through the outer office into the corridor. When they have all disappeared COKESON spins completely round and makes a rush for the outer office.       

       COKESON: [Hoarsely] Here! What are we doing?     

CONTENTS

     

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