Anthony sat down on the edge of the table. “That’ll be all, I think,” he said.
The curtains over the alcove at the end of the room parted. From behind them came three men: the first tall and of middle-aged immaculateness, the second an obvious detective-inspector, the third negligible save for the pencil and notebook he carried.
Sir Arthur turned, crouching like an animal, to see the invasion. In a flash he whipped round and leapt at Anthony’s throat, his arms outflung, his fingers crooked. Anthony, still sitting, had little time to avoid the rush. He raised a knee sharply. Sir Arthur fell to the floor, where for a time he rolled in agony.
The obvious detective-inspector bent over him. There was a click of handcuffs.
The immaculate man advanced to the table. “Very good indeed, Gethryn,” he said.
“Thanks,” Anthony said. “I suppose you’re satisfied now, Lucas?”
“Eminently, Gethryn, eminently!” Mr. Lucas beamed.
“Then that’s all right.” Anthony’s tone was heavy. “Now what about young Deacon? Can you unwind the red tape quickly?”
Mr. Lucas leant forward. “If you like,” he whispered, “I can arrange for him to get away to-night. It’s all very wrong and most unofficial; but I can manage it. Speak to the chief on the phone and all that sort of thing, you know.”
Anthony’s face relaxed into a smile. “Good for you. You might have Deacon told that if he likes I can arrange for the Bear and Key to fix him up for to-night.”