"You will sign it, will you not, M. Pigot?" asked Godfrey.
"Certainly," said the Frenchman; "it is a recognition of your services very well deserved," and he stepped forward and signed it with a flourish.
"Now, Simmonds," said Godfrey.
"No you don't!" broke in Grady. "Stay where you are, Simmonds. I forbid you to sign that. Remember, I'm your superior officer."
"No, he's not, Simmonds," said Godfrey, quietly. "He hasn't been an officer at all for an hour and more."
Grady sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing, and strode toward
Godfrey.
"What do you mean by that?" he shouted.
"I mean," said Godfrey, looking him squarely in the eye, "that Mr. Shearrow and myself had a talk with the mayor this morning, and laid before him certain evidence in our possession—this latest case among others—and that your resignation was accepted at noon to-day."
"My resignation!" snorted Grady. "I never wrote one!"
"Tell the public that, if you want to," retorted Godfrey coldly. "That's your affair. You ought to have 'phoned it in when I told you to. Now, Simmonds."