"I never met you before," said Mr. White, struggling to escape.
"Bless my life and soul," said Mr. Beale, stepping back, shocked and hurt, "I call you to witnesh, Detective-Sergeant Peterson and amiable Constable Fairbank and learned Dr. van Heerden, that he has denied me. And it has come to this," he said bitterly, and leaning his head against the door-post he howled like a dog.
"I say, stop your fooling, Beale," said the doctor angrily, "there's been very serious business here, and I should thank you not to interfere."
Mr. Beale wiped imaginary tears from his eyes, grasped Mr. White's unwilling hand and shook it vigorously, staggered back to his flat and slammed the door behind him.
"Do you know that man?" asked the doctor, turning to the detective.
"I seem to remember his face," said the sergeant. "Come on, Fred. Good morning, gentlemen."
They waited till the officers were downstairs and out of sight, and then the doctor turned to the other and in a different tone from any he had employed, said:
"Come into my room for a moment, White," and Mr. White followed him obediently.
They shut the door and passed into the study, with its rows of heavily bound books, its long table covered with test-tubes and the paraphernalia of medical research.