“I will,” replied Dr Murrell.
When Freyberger reached the Yard, he had to wait for a full quarter of an hour before being admitted to the presence of his chief.
He found the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department seated in that half cheerful, half sinister room, which is the central bureau of an army for ever at war with crime.
The walls of this room are hung with pictures of noted criminals; over the mantel, in a glass case, are weird-looking instruments of the expert burglars’ art.
In the centre of the room, at a large table covered with papers and documents, sat the chief; a young man, well dressed and groomed, with a quiet manner and a calm, cool, steadfast eye.
Freyberger, without much preliminary, plunged into the business before him, and told all we know. Occasionally the young man at the table made a note. He listened attentively, asking a question now and then.
When his subordinate had finished he said, “Is that all?”
“Yes, sir, that is all I have to say.”
“Hum—well, since you went, there has been a warrant issued for the arrest of Sir Anthony Gyde.”
“A warrant,” said Freyberger. “I beg your pardon, sir—”