“Thank you for nothing,” cried Anson bitterly. “It’s the old story—and you call yourself a friend! Well, I’m not going to be bullied. I’ve given you both a chance to own that you are all wrong; but you always were both of you dead against me. I’ll do now what I ought to have done at once—go to the principals. I shall get justice there.”
Saying this, he clapped on his hat, giving it a fierce cock on one side, passed out, and banged the door after him.
Ingleborough paid no heed to his companion’s enquiring look, but crossed quickly to the window and looked out.
“Anson thinks he is going to make a bolt,” said Ingleborough, half to himself; “but he’ll soon find out his mistake.”
“How?” said West eagerly.
“Norton is outside with a couple of the police,” Ingleborough replied.
“But this is very horrible!” cried West. “Once more, are you quite sure that you have not made a mistake?”
“Quite! I am certain!”
“But is it wise to be so certain?”
“Yes,” replied Ingleborough quietly. “Surely I can believe my own eyes!”