Ferris turned white even to the lips, and leaped back with an exclamation of alarm and surprise. The detective's action seemed to amaze him.
"Arrest me! Why? What for? Who are you?"
"My name is Gebb; I am a detective. Here is my warrant for your arrest, Mr. Ferris, on a charge of murder."
"Murder!" repeated Ferris, much agitated, as was natural. "You accuse me of murder? There is some mistake."
"People in your position always say so," replied Gebb, dryly; "but there is no mistake. You murdered a woman called Gilmar on the twenty-fourth of July last."
"It's a lie! I no more murdered Miss Gilmar than you did."
"That has yet to be proved, sir. Here is my warrant, and I have a couple of men outside in case of need. However, I have no desire to make trouble, and if you come along with me quietly, I shall use you civilly. We can drive to the prison in a hansom."
Ferris, who was looking round wildly, as though for some means of escape, started and recoiled at the sound of the ill-omened word.
"To prison!" he echoed hoarsely. "Great God! you would not take me to prison. I am innocent, I tell you. I know nothing of this murder."
"We have evidence to the contrary," said Gebb, quietly; "and I advise you, sir, to hold your tongue. Anything you say now will be used in evidence against you."