“Can’t do it, sir!”
“No! Hang it! I suppose it wasn’t fair of me to put you into such a position. And you’ve been very good in managing so quietly. Of course—one would have time to do all manner of queer things in ten minutes. I’ll order the brougham at once. It’ll be thought I’ve gone gaol-visiting, ha-ha?”
Again the officer eyed him very curiously. That strange laugh, teeming with a subtle irony, the queer carelessness of his tone, put the detectives thoroughly upon their guard, and caused them to determine that there was something about this case that was decidedly “fishy.” They were fully alive, too, to the importance of their errand. It was not every day that their duty required them to arrest a gentleman, a squire and a J.P., for murder.
Roland rang the bell and gave the necessary orders. In a few minutes the brougham came round. The officers had declined all offers of refreshment, and became very impatient to start. Sophie was passing through the hall as they came out.
“Why, where are you going, Roland?” she asked in astonishment.
“Got to go to Battisford on business. Take care of yourselves till I come back. Bye-bye?”
The girl looked puzzled, but there was no time for further explanations, and the three men, getting into the brougham, were driven off. And Barnby, the principal detective, still continued to watch his prisoner closely, and drew his own conclusions. In his heart of hearts he was thoroughly convinced of the other’s guilt; but the pluck and coolness displayed by Roland under the circumstances of his arrest filled him with admiration, for it was unparalleled, even in that astute officer’s experience.
But oh, the torture of the breaking heart which could smile, and even half jest, at that awful moment! Even at the time when life was at its very sweetest to him, had the sword fallen—and yet not; for had he not been torn away at a moment’s notice, nor allowed even a glance of farewell at the sweet face of her who constituted all his world? But for that horrible, jarring calm which he had assumed as a mask, his self-control would have been nowhere.
They reached Battisford, and drew up at the gaol. As a magistrate it had frequently been Roland’s duty to visit it; consequently his entrance into the gloomy building caused no comment among those who witnessed it now. Even the stolid turnkey was awed on receiving into his keeping one so high among the great ones of the land. To the last the prisoner’s coolness did not desert him. He scribbled off a short note.
“Watts. Drive round by Wandsborough on your way back and give this to Dr Ingelow; and if he isn’t in wait till he is. You needn’t call for me, as I shall be engaged here for some hours.” And again that mocking laugh lurked in his face.