Thurston arose and turned to confront them, while Paul became suddenly pale on recognizing two police officers.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen—good-afternoon, gentlemen," said the foremost and most respectable-looking of the two, lifting his hat and bowing to the fireside party. Then replacing it, he said: "Mr. Willcoxen, will you be kind enough to step this way and give me your attention, sir." He walked to the window, and Thurston followed him.
Paul stood with a pale face and firmly compressed lip, and gazed after them.
And Cloudy—unsuspicious Cloudy, arose and stood with his back to the fire and whistled a sea air.
"Mr. Willcoxen, you can see for yourself the import of this paper," said the officer, handing the warrant.
Thurston read it and returned it.
"Mr. Willcoxen," added the policeman, "myself and my comrade came hither on horseback. Let me suggest to you to order your carriage. One of us will accompany you in the drive, and all remarks will be avoided."
"I thank you for the hint, Mr. Jenkins; I had, how ever, intended to do as you advise," said Thurston, beckoning his brother to approach.
"Paul! I am a prisoner. Say nothing at present to Cloudy; permit him to assume that business takes me away, and go now quietly and order horses put to the carriage."
"Dr. Douglass, we shall want your company also," said the officer, serving Paul with a subpoena.