While SWEEDLE is putting it down on COKESON's table, the detective, WISTER, enters the outer office, and, finding no one there, comes to the inner doorway. He is a square, medium-sized man, clean-shaved, in a serviceable blue serge suit and strong boots.
COKESON. [Hoarsely] Here! Here! What are we doing?
WISTER. [To WALTER] From Scotland Yard, sir. Detective-Sergeant Blister.
WALTER. [Askance] Very well! I'll speak to my father.
He goes into the partners' room. JAMES enters.
JAMES. Morning! [In answer to an appealing gesture from COKESON] I'm sorry; I'd stop short of this if I felt I could. Open that door. [SWEEDLE, wondering and scared, opens it] Come here, Mr. Falder.
As FALDER comes shrinkingly out, the detective in obedience to a sign from JAMES, slips his hand out and grasps his arm.
FALDER. [Recoiling] Oh! no,—oh! no!
WALTER. Come, come, there's a good lad.
JAMES. I charge him with felony.