I followed him out into the back regions, where we found two stalwart policemen busily occupied attaching a couple of horses to an enormous Black Maria. They touched their hats to me with as little concern as if the business they were engaged to carry out was one of the very smallest importance. Somehow their stolidity did not seem reassuring to me, and I accordingly called Walworth on one side.
"Are you perfectly sure you can trust these men?" I asked anxiously.
"Absolutely," he answered. "I know them of old, and I can tell you we are extremely lucky to get them. Besides, they know that if they get the prisoner safely away they will each receive a thousand pounds. If they don't they get nothing. Don't be afraid. You may depend implicitly on them. Now come inside. I have had the telephone put in the house on purpose for this moment, and we must watch it."
We returned to the sitting-room and waited. The minutes seemed long as hours, and so horrible was the suspense that I began to conjure up all sorts of calamities. Perhaps I may be laughed at for owning myself such a coward, but let the pluckiest man living try the ordeal I was then passing through, and see if he would be braver. No! I was in a condition of complete terror, and I'll own it!
Suddenly, with a noise that echoed down the empty corridor and braced us to action like a trumpet call, the telephone bell rang out. Both Walworth and I jumped to our feet at the same instant and appropriated the ear trumpets. Then a tiny voice inside the instrument said mysteriously:
"The case is adjourned and the crowd is dispersing."
With a step as steady and a voice as firm as if he were ordering his carriage for an airing in the Park, Walworth went to the back door, I following close at his heels. He gave a signal and then crossed the yard to the gates, which he began to open.
"Are you ready?" he cried to the men.
"Quite ready," the taller of the pair answered, climbing on the box.
"Papers and everything handy?"