It was a car which had extraordinary privileges, for at a nod from the man who sat by the side of the driver the City police held up the traffic to allow it to pass. It flew down Queen Victoria Street at a much greater speed than is permissible within the City boundaries, and the gloved hands of the policemen on duty at the end of Blackfriars Bridge made a clear way for it.
It turned into Scotland Yard, remained a few minutes, then returned along the Embankment, up Northumberland Avenue, and through a side thoroughfare to Bow Street.
Thereafter, the Frenchman's experience was bewildering. He was searched, hurried through a passage to a small court, where a benevolent-looking gentleman sat behind a table, on a raised dais.
The prisoner was placed in a steel pen, and a quietly dressed man rose from the solicitors' table, and made a brief statement.
"We shall charge this man with being a suspected person, your Worship," he said, "and ask for a remand."
Then another man went into the witness-box.
"My name is Detective-Sergeant Kiegnell, of 'A' Division," he said; "and, from information received, I went to 976 Throgmorton Street, where I saw the prisoner. I told him I was a police officer, and should take him into custody."
That was all.
The magistrate scribbled something on a paper before him, and said briefly, "Remanded."
Before the prisoner could say a word, or utter anything more than a "Sacré!" he was beckoned from the dock and disappeared from court.