The car resolved itself into shape. Its very crudity, its ugliness, seemed symbolic. The driver was in plain clothes, but he sat stiffly and there was something official about his appearance. By his side was Major Holmes. Behind sat Inspector Cloutson. The two latter descended as the car drew up.
“Well, Major?” Sir Bertram exclaimed. “What new thunderbolt are you going to launch?”
The Chief Constable rather avoided his eyes.
“We want a word with you, please,” he confided, laying his hand lightly upon Gregory’s arm.
They all entered the house together. Sir Bertram led the way to the library, thrust open the door and closed it again when they had all entered.
“Now what the devil is it this time, Holmes?” he asked, a little testily. “You mustn’t be annoyed with me if I say that I am getting rather tired of these visitations.”
“I deeply regret the necessity for the present one,” was the grave reply. “Gregory Ballaston, I am sorry to tell you that Inspector Cloutson here has a warrant for your arrest. I should strongly advise you to make no reply to the charge and to come with us to Norwich.”
“What is the charge?” Gregory demanded.
“A very serious one, I am afraid,” Major Holmes announced. “I have, as a matter of fact, two warrants; the first charging you, Gregory Ballaston, with assault on one Peter Johnson, and burglary at the Great House on the night of July 28th, and the second by which you stand charged with the murder of Ralph Endacott at the Great House on June 30th of last year. There is nothing to be gained by denial or comment or anything else, at the present moment. I beg you, Gregory, not to attempt any reply but to come with us.”
The door behind had been opened so softly that no one heard it. They were all standing motionless when Henry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, entered.