"Sergeant," said the latter, with a shrewd and wary eye out, "you were present at the capture of Willoughby, weren't you: when he was killed resisting arrest?"
"I was," growled the sergeant, conquering a disinclination to answer.
"Ah, good. Was anyone else captured besides Willoughby?" "No."
"But it was known or believed, was it not," pursued Serpos, with an able theatrical consciousness that he had the scene in hand, "that there was a Willoughby gang?"
` A man," said the servant obstinately, "can't design, and print, and pass the stuff all by himself. There's got to be others with him. That's all I know. Or any of us."
The Adam's apple moved up and down in Serpos's scrawny neck as he swallowed and cleared his throat delicately.
"A little study of criminology, sergeant," he observed, "wouldn't hurt your work at all. You knew Willoughby was an American, didn't you? Yes. Were you acquainted with his nick-name on the other side?"
At this point Johnson Stone sat forward in his chair His fist was held half-way in the air, as at an access of illumination, and he spoke to H.M. in an eager, throaty voice.
"Sorry to butt in right here," he said; "but I've just thought of something. Yes, indeed. Do you mind if I have that paper of mine back for a minute, to add something to it?"
Without a word H.M. picked up one of the prescription-blanks and passed it across to him: but H.M. did not take his eyes off Serpos. Serpos, who was sitting near Stone, directed a glazed look at him and turned his attention back after a brief glance at Stone's moving pencil. It seemed to me that Serpos was struggling with some inner enjoyment, which, if it had not been for the whisky which gave him his poise, might have been inner fear.