"There seems no help for it, Mr. Anstruther," he said, with them in his hands. "I am afraid you will have to go with him. This is a proper warrant signed by a magistrate on sworn information."
"Who are the informants?" I asked.
He referred to the warrant and read out the names.
"Inspector James Bull, Frederick Redfern, surgeon, and Anthony
Saumarez, gentleman."
"Saumarez!" I exclaimed, "the scoundrel and would-be murderer!"
"You had better be careful what you say," remarked the police officer, "as I may have to take it down, and it will be used against you."
"Yes," confirmed Watson, "you'd better say as little as possible. No doubt the whole matter is a mistake."
I took up my overcoat and the managing clerk helped me on with it; meanwhile, the police officer walked to the desk I had been sitting at and laid his hands on some papers. I looked upon the packets as lost.
Watson, however, stopped him at once.
"You mustn't touch those papers," he said hastily. "They are the property of Mr. Snowdon, a member of our firm."