“This is incredible, Superintendent,” exclaimed Mr. Doyle. “You surely aren’t seriously imagining that——”
“That will do,” snapped the Superintendent, without any pretence of courtesy. “Any observations you wish to make can be put to the magistrates to-morrow morning.”
“Magistrates!” gasped four unhappy mouths.
“You don’t mean,” cried Dora, “that—that——”
The Superintendent eyed her grimly. “May I remind you, Miss Howard, that you are already under arrest?” he observed. “You will undergo a formal identification by a Mr. Foster, whom we have been compelled to keep in detention for his own safety, as soon as we get to the police-station; and——”
“Foster?” squeaked Mr. Doyle. “His own safety? What on earth are you talking about now?”
The Superintendent was very patient. “No doubt it had never occurred to you that, apart from the constable, who only saw the Crown Prince’s dead body, and two other persons who had nothing to do with the murder, Mr. Foster is our only witness, did it?”
Guy also was very patient. “My dear good man,” he said very patiently, “haven’t I already told you that this is our Crown Prince, very much alive and no doubt longing to be kicking?”
George smiled deprecatingly. He hadn’t the least idea what was happening, but he did realise that Guy’s tone was not calculated to soothe the Superintendent. “That’s right,” he mumbled. “Really quite true, you know. I’m not dead—not a bit of it.”
The Superintendent looked unimpressed.