“Is that really necessary, Superintendent?” Guy asked in a voice of ice.
The Superintendent did not even trouble to reply.
“My God,” Mr. Doyle boiled over on seeing his lady thus ignominiously treated, “I’ll get you turned out of the force, you miserable bungler, if there’s any power left in The Courier’s elbow at all.”
“But Guy!” said Cynthia, breathing a little quickly. “This is simply farcical.”
“That’s just what we’ve been pointing out to the idiot, my dear.”
“Colonel!” appealed Cynthia.
The Colonel shook his head. “Matter’s out of my hands, I’m afraid, Mrs. Nesbitt,” he replied gruffly.
“I told you so, Guy!” Cynthia cried. “I told you it would end like this.”
“Make a note of that admission, Bateman,” the Superintendent remarked with satisfaction. “Robinson, march ’em off. Bateman, you’ll take the women in the other car to Abingchester. Right!”
The two watchers by the door approached. They were burly men, both, and they had the advantage of having their wrists free.