Stonor turned on his heel and walked away, grinding his teeth in the effort to get a grip on himself.
Imbrie was never one to forego such an advantage. He looked from one to another with bright, spiteful eyes. When Stonor came back he said:
“You must excuse me if I gave you a turn. To tell the truth, a man forgets how attractive his wife is. I’m sorry I had to turn up, old man. Perhaps you didn’t know that she had a Mrs. to her name. She took back her maiden name, they told me.”
“I knew it very well,” said Stonor. “Since before we started to look for you.”
“Well, if you knew it, that’s your look-out,” said Imbrie. “You can’t say I didn’t do my best to keep out of your way.”
This was intolerable. Stonor suddenly bethought himself what to do. In a low voice he bade Mary bring him the tracking-line. Imbrie, who stood stroking his chin and surveying them with the air of master of the situation, lost countenance when he saw the rope. Stonor cut off an end of it.
“What’s that for?” demanded Imbrie.
“Turn round and put your hands behind you,” said the policeman.
Imbrie defiantly folded his arms.
Stonor smiled. “If you resist my orders,” he said softly, “there is no need for me to hold my hand.—Put your hands behind you!” he suddenly rasped.