"This letter," he said, glancing towards the sheet, "is in your own writing, which I happen to know very well. Your attempt at mystification," he went on, "will be of no avail, either now or later."
John felt in his tones intense antagonism.
"If I might be permitted to speak to you gentlemen alone," he said, "I will in three minutes explain the mystery."
General Whiston glanced at the Commissioner of Police.
"It is for you to say, Sir Robert," he said. "To-night the affair is in your hands."
Sir Robert pondered the subject for a moment, then glanced at the detectives who stood behind John; with his hand he made a slow, significant gesture. John, who was standing at attention before the table, heard the detectives move away, and a moment later the door softly closed behind them.
He was alone with the Commissioner of Police and the General.
On his accusers' faces John read a stern and determined intention that the law should take its course, not the tortuous, long-drawn old law of pre-war days, but the swift justice which is meted out to traitors.
"You shall have three minutes in which to speak!" Sir Robert's voice smote John's ears.
Manton knew that if he held his peace and the law moved with its inexorable swiftness, he would by to-morrow have expiated the crime of another man. He was in another man's shoes. Innocently, he had taken up that other man's identity.