“Look here, sir,” said the officer sternly; “I don’t want to treat you like a Kaffir unless you behave like one. You are charged with illicit buying, and your game’s up; so the best thing you can do is to produce everything you have on you and have done with the matter.”
“Search me if you dare,” cried Anson, still keeping up his defiant manner.
“Right: I dare,” said the officer. “Mr Ingleborough, be ready to lend a hand if I want it.”
“If John Ingleborough dares to lay a hand on me I’ll send a bullet through him.”
In an instant Ingleborough’s hand came down heavily upon Anson’s shoulder and gripped him fast.
“Never mind him, Norton. It’s all bluff. He is unarmed.”
“Armed or unarmed,” said the superintendent, “I’m going to search him,” and directly after a quick pair of hands were busy going through the suspect’s pockets.
“Urrr!” he growled, showing his white teeth between his thick red lips, as he cast off thoroughly the mask of servile humility he had previously worn; “it’s lucky for you that I am unarmed. But search away. Go on. I’ll have heavy damages for this dastardly assault and defamation of character, and the public shall know all about the games carried on by this beautiful diamond syndicate. Curse you all—masters and men! You shall pay for it, and, as for you, John Ingleborough, look out for yourself. Yes, and you too, Oliver West, you miserable sneak. I always hated you.”
“Hadn’t you better save your breath, Anson?” said West quietly. “You’re only making everybody believe you guilty.”
“Let ’em,” cried the suspect, whose plump round face was now distorted with impotent rage. “I’ll be even with all of you for this.”