“(Signed) James Cavendish Stannard, Bart.
Christopher Angel.”
Dazed and bewildered, the lawyer read the paper, then looked from one to the other.
“So it was you,” he said.
Angel nodded curtly.
“You!” said Spedding again.
“Yes.”
“You have robbed the safe—you—a police officer.”
“Yes,” said Angel, not removing his eyes from the man. He motioned to Jimmy, and Jimmy, with a whispered word to the girl, led her to the door. Behind him, as he returned to Angel’s side, came six plain-clothes officers.
“So you think you’ve got me, do you?” breathed Spedding.
“I don’t think,” said Angel, “I know.”