"Then what is he doing here?" asked the man, with a jerk of his head towards me.
"Mr. Anstruther," replied Watson, "was attending to some business correspondence at Mr. Snowdon's desk, that gentleman being away."
"Where's the correspondence?" asked the detective, with a quick glance at my two packets sticking out of the pigeon holes. I looked the man straight in the face.
"My correspondence is finished," I answered, "and in the hands of this firm."
A little smile about Watson's mouth and a hasty glance at the packets, convinced me that he understood my remark.
"Very well, then," said the police officer, "we'd better come along. Provided you come quietly," he observed to me as I followed him out, "it won't be necessary for me to handcuff you."
That was a comfort I thought, as I went downstairs and through the office, full of astounded clerks, who had all known me well for years.
We got into a cab and were driven to Paddington Station, reaching it about dusk, much to my satisfaction, as I should not at all have appreciated making my appearance in such a place with the two police officers.
We got into a third class compartment all to ourselves right at the end of the train, near the engine, and there I sat between the two men, who hardly exchanged a word the whole way, but who sat trying to read newspapers by the bad light. They would hold no conversation with me.
When we got to Bath they hurried me quickly down the stairs into a fly, and then we drove straight through the town.