“Still, there is some one here who says——”
“Let me see him.”
“Come this way quietly,” said the inspector, and John followed him to the inner room. His pride was all gone, his head was hanging low, and he was a prey to extraordinary agitation.
A man in a black cassock was sitting at a table making a statement to another officer with an open book before him. His back was to the door, but John knew him in a moment. It was Brother Andrew.
“Then why have you given yourself up?” the officer asked, and Brother Andrew began a rambling and foolish explanation. He had seen it stated in an evening paper that the Father had been traced to the train at Euston, and he thought it a pity—a pity that the police—that the police should waste their time——
“Take care!” said the officer. “You are in a position that should make you careful of what you say.”
And then the inspector stepped forward, leaving John by the door.
“You still say you are Father Storm?”
“Of course I do,” said Brother Andrew indignantly. “If I was anybody else, do you think I should come here and give myself up——”
“Then who is this standing behind you?”