‘Mr. Barndale, I think?’ said the familiar stranger.
‘Yes,’ said Barndale, looking down at him in a somewhat stately way, in resentment of the familiar hand upon his shoulder.
‘We’ll do our little bit of business inside, sir, if you please.’
Barndale looked at him again inquiringly, opened the door, walked in, and allowed the stranger to follow. The man entered the room and stood before Barndale on the hearthrug. He had one hand in the breast of his coat; and somehow, as Barndale looked at him, he bethought him of the Greek who had stood with his hand at his breast in the Concordia Garden glaring at Leland.
‘I hope you’ll take it quietly,’ said the clean-shaven man, ‘but it’s got to be done, and will be done whether you take it quietly or not. I’m an officer, and it’s my duty to arrest you.’
There passed rapidly through Barndale’s mind the remembrance of a disputed wine-bill, and the service of some legal document which he had thrown into the fire without reading.
He connected the clean-shaven stranger with these things, and was tickled at the idea of being arrested for some such trifle as a hundred pounds. He was so far tickled that he laughed outright.
‘Come,’ said Barndale, still smiling, ‘this is absurd. I’ll give you a cheque at once. Are you empowered to give a receipt?’
The clean-shaven stranger regarded him with a cool, observant, wary eye.
‘It’s my duty to arrest you,’ he said again quietly, ‘and I hope you’ll come quietly and make no fuss about it.’