‘Take him back to London.’
‘Of course. But how?’
‘I don’t know. What would you advise?’
The captain pointed to a single-funnelled steamer of about 4000 tons lying not two hundred yards on their port quarter.
‘That’s the Chrysostom, a Booth liner, due out in about an hour. If you take my advice you’ll get aboard and don’t favour the shore with your presence. I’ll run you over in the launch.’
Tanner thanked the man warmly.
‘Guess that’s all right,’ he answered dryly. ‘I’m as interested in getting him out of my ship as you are in taking him.’
Finding the chief steward, Tanner explained the matter in hand, adding that he wished to make the arrest as quietly as possible. The man seemed mildly interested and promised his help.
Douglas, alias Donnell, was, it appeared, still in his cabin, and the two went thither. He was in bed, and rose to open the door. When he saw Tanner his eyes started from his head with amazement, then his jaw dropped and his face went grey. Stepping quickly back, he collapsed on to the cabin sofa and sat staring helplessly.
‘William Douglas or Walter Donnell,’ Tanner said solemnly, ‘I arrest you on a charge of being concerned in the death of the late Sir William Ponson, of Luce Manor, Halford. I have to warn you that anything you say will be used against you.’