“You mistake my errand, Mr. Wynne. I have no doubt that you are a skilful copyist. Indeed, I have great reason to think so, and do not doubt that, if I were in need of anything in your line, I should find it worth while to apply to you.”
“What, then, is your business?” demanded Jacob, mystified.
“I regret to say, Mr. Wynne,” said Mr. Sharp, losing none of his affability, “that I have an unpleasant duty to perform. I have obtained a warrant for your arrest.”
“My arrest!” repeated the copyist, his sallow face exhibiting unmistakable terror.
“I regret to say so.”
“On what charge?” ejaculated Jacob, too well surmising its nature.
“Forgery.”
Jacob’s lips became bloodless, and his cheeks assumed an ashen hue, for at heart he was a very coward. In the moment of trial, none could be more craven.
“I regret to disturb you,” said Mr. Sharp, stepping back to the door and opening it. “Mr. Officer, you will do your duty.”
An officer, who had been stationed just outside the door, now entered, and formally arrested Jacob Wynne.