“For God’s sake,” cried Albert, “forget all but the necessity of securing the perpetrators of the horrible crime which has been committed in this house to-night. A man, I tell you, has been murdered.”
“Very like,” said the spy, as he took a constable’s staff from his pocket. “You are my prisoner, my light-heeled gentleman. Till we catch somebody else more suspicious, we may as well have you.”
Another officer who had gone into Gray’s room now came with a face as pale as a sheet, and trembling in every limb.
“It’s true,” he cried, “I never saw such a sight in my life, and hope never to see such an one again.”
“Do with me what you like,” cried Albert, “but take, for Heaven’s sake, some measures for securing the murderer.”
“It’s my opinion, young fellow,” said the spy, “that you know about as much of this affair as most people—keep a strict eye on him, my men. Why, you look as scared as if you had seen a ghost. Give me your light. If there is a dead man there, I’m not afraid of him.”
All but one constable, who kept a firm hold of Albert, went into the room, but hardened as these men were to scenes of terror, a cry of unmingled horror escaped them as they saw the ghastly spectacle under the window, and they quickly retreated to the landing again.
“You see I have spoken the truth,” cried Albert; “God only knows whether those I suspect are guilty or not, but to any magistrate I will communicate all I know with regard to this night’s dreadful proceedings.”
“You are, out of all hand, the most hardened ruffian I ever came near,” said the constable who held Albert; “why you’ll be hung for this as sure as you are now a living man.”
“I?” cried Albert, the dreadful circumstances of suspicion in which he was placed for the first time darting across his mind, for in the excitement of his feelings he had scarcely noticed what was said before. “I? Why you rave, man—I did not do the deed.”