“I am a police officer,” said he, “and I arrest you for——”
A peal of hysterical laughter from Mrs. Chater interrupted him, and he looked at her in astonishment. “Stop, stop!” she cried in a shaky voice. “I guess we’ve made a ridiculous mistake. This isn’t the man. This gentleman is Captain Rowland, an old friend of mine.”
“I’m sorry he’s a friend of yours,” said Miller, “because I shall have to ask you to appear against him.”
“You can ask what you please,” replied Mrs. Chater. “I tell you he’s not the man.”
The superintendent rubbed his nose and looked hungrily at his quarry. “Do I understand, madam,” he asked stiffly, “that you refuse to prosecute?”
“Prosecute!” she exclaimed. “Prosecute my friends for offences that I know they have not committed? Certainly I refuse.”
The superintendent looked at Thorndyke, but my colleague’s countenance had congealed into a state of absolute immobility and was as devoid of expression as the face of a Dutch clock.
“Very well,” said Miller, looking sourly at his watch. “Then we have had our trouble for nothing. I wish you good afternoon, madam.”
“I am sorry I troubled you, now,” said Mrs. Chater.
“I am sorry you did,” was the curt reply; and the superintendent, flinging the key on the table, stalked out of the room.