‘Paul Armstrong,’ he read, with a brogue as wide as the ocean. ‘Is that you?’
‘That is my name,’ said Paul.
‘Then ye’re wanted,’ said the official.
‘Wanted? Where?’
‘At Bow Street,’ the official answered stolidly.
Paul rolled round to consult his watch. It indicated three o’clock within a minute or so.
‘What on earth am I wanted at Bow Street for?’ he asked in great bewilderment.
‘Party of the name of Wilder,’ said the officer, referring once more to his paper. ‘Says you’re his first cousin, and that you’ll bail him out.’
‘Wilder? First cousin?’ His mind was fogged with broken sleep. ‘Oh, that fellow! What has he been doing?’
The man in uniform consulted his paper again, and read out: