Members rose to their feet, and simultaneously made a move towards the door, with the evident intention of resisting the intrusion.
Mr. Marvell—for it was he—held up his hand warningly. "There are more men outside," he said. "Resistance is useless."
"Where's your authority for all this?" demanded the Secretary.
"Here, sir," said Marvell, pulling out a bundle of papers from a capacious pocket. "Here are the warrants. 'Mr. George Drummond Eyre,'" he called out, reading from the pile. "Here you are, sir. 'The Duke of Dorchester.' Here, your Grace. 'The Earl of Ribston.' Here, my lord. 'Mr. Hilton,' 'Major Anstruther,'" and so on through the list of members. "You will find these quite in order, I think. Now, gentlemen, if you please. I have concluded that you would prefer to ride. Thompson, fetch the hansoms round."
"Stop!" called out Ribston. "What are you going to do with us?"
"Take you to Vine Street Station."
"Nonsense. We're not criminals."
"You can argue that out with the magistrate to-morrow, my lord," said the detective. "Here are the warrants, and I'm going to execute them. If the proceedings are not in order, you can claim reparation in the usual way. Now, gentlemen, please. If you will give your word to come quietly you will save time and trouble."
"Does the Home Secretary know of this?" asked the Duke.