We walked all three down into the town, and then straight into the
Police Station, only a few doors off my hotel.
The inspector and the doctor went into a private room to confer with some superior official while I was left to sit by the fire in the outer office.
Presently the inspector came out.
"We've decided to detain you, Mr. Anstruther," he said, "until we can find out a little more about this affair. Just come over here."
"Look here, Mr. Inspector," I said, "if you intend to detain me without sufficient reason, you'll find it an awkward matter." The inspector looked a trifle uncomfortable.
"We shall have to take our chance of that," he said, rather sullenly, "we've only got our duty to do, Mr. Anstruther. You can have bail, I should think."
"Bail!" I repeated, "how am I to get bail? I don't know a soul in the town."
The inspector shrugged his shoulders and motioned me into a railed space in the centre of the office.
There was no help for it, so I went and placed myself as he desired in the little dock, and a constable standing there obligingly clamped down a rail behind me to keep me there. Then the doctor, who, it turned out, was some official in the town, gave a garbled version of the whole affair, which I found it useless to try and contradict, as I was told to hold my tongue. The inspector's version of the affair was even more insulting than the doctor's. He did not hesitate to express his opinion that I was a very suspicious person, probably a lunatic at large. When asked if I had anything to say, my remark summed up the situation, tersely, in a few words.
"This is a parcel of d—d rot!" I said.