The inspector hesitated slightly. Bobby’s innocence seemed to strike him. He was not the sort of person he was used to arresting.
“I am afraid it’s more than likely, Mr. Froelich.”
“Can’t I change my clothes?” queried Bobby. “You see, I’ve got on evening dress, and I suppose I shan’t have a chance of getting out of it.”
The inspector reflected a moment.
“Oh yes, Mr. Froelich. I don’t see why you should not change, but I’m afraid I must ask you to let me accompany you.”
“Well, I’m—D’you think I’m going to try and escape?”
“Oh, I don’t say that, Mr. Froelich, but sometimes things happen on these occasions, and it’s my duty to be on the safe side. I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Come on in, then.” Bobby led the way into his dressing-room, and in a few minutes he was rolling off with his strange companion to some destination unknown.
After the most uncomfortable night Bobby had ever spent in his life he was escorted next morning by Sub-inspector Dane to Scotland Yard. He was ushered into a waiting-room, and there he sat with the inspector, waiting until he should be summoned before the Assistant Commissioner. Had he been able to see what was going on in the adjoining room, he would have been exceedingly surprised.
The Assistant Commissioner, one of those public servants whose quiet, unobtrusive manner covers a strong character and a great efficiency, was sitting at his table talking to Harold Clancey. They were in earnest consultation.