“If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the sergeant. “But you’ll have to give us your right name.”
“You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold.
He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the sergeant.
“You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. “This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over a crest, and arms with supporters.”
“Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my father’s watch before he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two bill-hook men guffawed.
“Give me the watch,” said Harold.
The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket.
“You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said he. “Handcuffs, Jonas.”
The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his revolver out of its case.
“It has never occurred before this minute,” said the constable.