In some vague way he felt that his punishment for Philip Anson's death would be meted out by a sterner justice than the law of the land. He was too hard a man to yield instantly. He crushed back the rising flood of horror that threatened to overwhelm him in this moment of happiness. He forced himself again to answer their anxious inquiries, to note their little airs of manliness and self-reliance, to see with growing wonder that they were well dressed and wore spotless linen.
A police station was no place for confidences. Indeed, both boys were awed by their surroundings.
They passed into the outer office, and Mason went to thank Inspector Bradley.
"Don't forget your ticket," whispered the pleased officer.
The reminder jarred, but it was unavoidable. Mason got his ticket indorsed, the lads looking on shyly the while, and the three regained the freedom of the street.
"Let us find some place to sit down and have a drink," suggested Mason.
"No, father," said John, with a frank smile. "Neither of us takes drink. Come home with us. We have a room ready for you."
"I have lodgings——"
"You can go there to-morrow, and get your belongings."
"Yes. Jump into this cab," urged Willie. "We live in Westminster. It is not very far."