The Superintendent bored a neat hole in George’s forehead with his gimlet eyes. “Isn’t that very strange, Mr. Howard? Isn’t it exceedingly strange that you heard nothing?”
“Er—yes—I suppose it is. Er—frightfully strange. Must be, mustn’t it? Er—how extraordinary!”
The Superintendent continued to bore holes in George in silence. George wished he wouldn’t.
“I have a warrant to search this house, Mr. Howard,” he snapped suddenly. “Do you wish to see it?”
“Good Lord, no,” said George, apparently much shocked at the suggestion. Fancy asking him if he wanted to see a warrant to search his house! How frightfully indelicate!
“Very well. Kindly go over to the library of the house next door, and wait there till I come.”
“I say, you know,” George protested feebly in spite of his alarm. There was good sterling stuff in George. “I say, you know, what’s all this about? Searching my house and—and ordering me about and—and——” His words faded away under the menacing light in the Superintendent’s eyes.
“I think you will find it better to do as I suggest, Mr. Howard,” said the Superintendent, oh, so gently.
George did it.
Guy and Mr. Doyle received him with effusive jocularity, in which, nevertheless, a somewhat forced note was detectable. On hearing his account of the interview, the jocularity disappeared altogether.