“They have come to take me to prison,” he said mournfully.
“To prison!” cried Mr. Bannister. “Nonsense! What for? What have you been doing, old Silas?”
“I haven’t been doing nothing,” Silas quavered. “But this stout gentleman seemed mortally offended and—”
“Oh, we’ll see, we’ll see,” Mr. Bannister said. “Now, Mr. Pepster, what does all this mean?”
“We want to see Mr. Thoyne and—”
“He isn’t here.”
“Well, we should like to look through the house—”
“Yes, yes, and no doubt you have a search warrant?”
“I have no search warrant,” Pepster said patiently. “I am asking your permission.”
“No, no, let’s do everything in order. No warrant, no search. An Englishman’s house, et cetera, you know. Can’t be done, Mr. Pepster, can’t be done. Think what would happen if the papers got hold of it. High-handed action by a Peakborough detective—eh?”