The man resisted, his face flushing up at the order; he was not aware that every fresh resistance to every fresh indignity was additional confirmation of guilt. The web was closing round him, and he was assisting to spin it. They found on him some stale bread and cheese.
“Take care of it,” he said tauntingly.
They continued their search, and found nothing else—not a scrap of paper, not a card, not a penny piece, not a knife even. It was most perplexing and annoying.
“Your name?” asked the inspector.
The man laughed again bitterly.
“Your name,” repeated the inspector.
“My name!” echoed the man, and then appeared to consider what answer it was best to give. “What do you say to Antony Cowlrick?”
“Is that the name you give?” inquired the inspector.
“Take it,” said the man defiantly, “in place of a better!”
“Where do you live?”