“Yes, yes,” chuckled the old man, “that’s what he called me. He bought a copy of my book—two sovereigns, four sovereigns he gave me. The book—what was it called?”
The old man paused and clasped both hands to his head.
“A Study—a Study” he said painfully, “on the Origin of—the Alphabet. Ah!”
Another of the commissionaires had come forward as the old man began speaking, and to him the sergeant turned.
“Make a note of that, Jimmy,” the sergeant said.
Spedding reeled back as though he had been struck.
“Angel!” he gasped.
“That’s me,” was the ungrammatical reply.
Crushed, cowed, beaten and powerless, Spedding awaited judgment. What form it would take he could not guess, that it would effectively ruin him he did not doubt. The trusted lawyer stood self-condemned; there was no explaining away his companions, there could be no mistaking the meaning of their presence.
“Send your men away,” said Angel.