With a movement that was again almost like prestidigitation, Adams had the door open, and there appeared the familiar, now puzzled, countenance of McCaleb.
"That's the man," Adams went on, pointing to Doctor Westbrook,—assuredly, direct enough now. "I charge Mobley Westbrook with the murder of Señor Alberto de Sanchez." With extraordinary adroitness, he placed McCaleb between himself and the physician.
For a moment the silence could almost be felt, tense and breathless as it was. McCaleb was the only one present who evinced any embarrassment; he had every air of a man suddenly and unwillingly thrust into a ridiculous position. Charlotte was too dazed to comprehend at once what was going forward, and she simply sat motionless and stared at Adams with a blank look. That individual, by his recent manoeuvre, had placed himself near the open door, and he was, moreover, again smiling and flashing his teeth. As for the Doctor, he seemed for the time being overcome with astonishment; then he laughed harshly and unnaturally; and what he said was quite unaccountable:
"So it has come at last. Well, I have been expecting it."
He sat down suddenly and fell to stroking his beard. His glance seemed to pass casually to Adams, who, when his shifting eyes caught it, swallowed hastily and edged still nearer the door.
A sudden anger burst from the Doctor.
"Close that door!" he thundered. "Don't let that rascal slip away till we see how far he means to push this thing."
With the Doctor's first enigmatic words McCaleb seemed to recover his sang-froid. Briefly he regarded the other with a startled look, as if the words were unexpected and surprising; now he turned to Adams, his surprise very manifest.
He closed the door.
"I must warn you, Doctor," said he, "that anything you say may be used against you; yet, if you wish to make a statement, you are at liberty to do so. It is true that you have been charged with this—this crime; I have the warrant here, sworn to by Adams."