"Sir Robert will be ready for you in five minutes," he was saying.
The door closed.
Sir Robert tapped his fingers upon the surface of his desk.
"You wish to affirm that Captain Gilbert is prepared to prove the truth of your statement?"
"I am sure he will be prepared to prove that my name is Manton," answered John.
In his long experience Sir Robert had come across many singular and dramatic events. The great police force of which he was the chief was dealing always in drama. In his experience he had interviewed every quality and degree of criminal, from affluent company promoters downward.
John's bearing and manner struck him as nothing unusual. John's statement that his was a case of mistaken identity, that Scotland Yard had for once made a mistake, meant nothing to the Police Commissioner. Such a statement was one of the commonest in his experience.
He felt no sympathy for John, and believing explicitly in his guilt, was determined to listen no further. He leaned forward and began to make rapid notes upon the writing pad.
Manton, in the meantime, stood motionless beyond the desk. Save for the movement of Sir Robert's pen, and the tick of a small travelling clock on Sir Robert's desk, no sound disturbed the heavy silence. Despite his calmness, John felt the tension grow upon him; the waiting seemed to draw itself out. He glanced at the clock, and observed that it was only a little after ten.
The whirl of events that night sped through his mind in rapid panorama, but of one thing he was certain—Manners and Captain Cherriton were either spies or traitors, and Scotland Yard in laying hands upon him, and allowing Cherriton to go, had made a mistake.