"I saw you do it."
"You saw me----" The man stopped; as if unwilling to complete the sentence; then asked: "What do you mean--by you saw me?"
"I saw--what you did to him."
"Miss Gilbert!"
"It was because--I saw you do it that I ran away; I didn't want them to make me tell them what I'd seen."
"Good God! what--what an extraordinary thing!"
"Yes, you may well call it an extraordinary thing. Dorothy Gilbert, you're my prisoner; I arrest you for murdering George Emmett. And you, my lad, I don't know what your name is, but I arrest you too. You're both of you my prisoners; and, if you take my advice, you won't make any fuss, but you'll just come quietly; and to make sure you'll put these on--there's a bracelet for each of you."
The speaker was a policeman, in unmistakable policeman's clothes. So engrossed had they been in their own affairs that to them it was as if he had sprung out of the ground; but the explanation of his appearance on the scene was sufficiently simple. West, the parlourmaid, having succeeded in releasing herself from the trap in which Dorothy's quick-witted sympathiser had temporarily secured her, had rushed off to the police station the moment she was free; more set than ever on effecting her purpose because of the trick of which she had been made the victim. Not only had she given information at the station-house itself; but on her homeward way she had encountered the individual to whom she was engaged to be married, and who was himself a constable. The hope of hastening her wedding-day by earning the hundred pounds which was offered as a reward was the motive which had caused her to act as informant; but in what seemed to her to be the fortunate meeting with the object of her affections, she saw an opportunity of enabling him to bring about his own advancement by managing so that he should effect the arrest in person. Explaining her purpose, she induced him to accompany her. As she was leading him to the servants' entrance she saw what she jumped to the conclusion was the dim outline of Dorothy's figure at the end of the lawn. On the instant she started him on the chase. Doing as Dorothy had done, keeping under the shadow of the hedge, taking advantage of their preoccupation, he was on them before either of the pair had suspected his propinquity; and, with a grin, was holding out a pair of handcuffs.
"Now, my lad, your right hand, and, Miss Dorothy Gilbert, your left--sorry to inconvenience you, but business is business."
The speaker, however, was taking too much for granted in supposing that, having surprised his prey, the rest would be perfectly easy; and the way in which he learnt his error probably took him at least as much by surprise as he had taken them. It took but an instant for Dorothy's companion to grasp the situation; and even less for him to decide upon a course of action. As the unsuspecting constable was suggesting, with a grin, that they should hold out their hands to permit of his handcuffing them together, the man took him by the shoulder, whirled him round, and sent him spinning down the steep bank, on the verge of which he had been standing, into the river. Ere the noise of the splash which he had made as he entered the water had died away someone came running towards them across the lawn. It was Frances Vernon. She called out as she came: