“How came it in your desk, Batchelor?” asked Mr Barnacle.
I didn’t know, and therefore I couldn’t say, and consequently said nothing.
“Have you any explanation to offer?” repeated Mr Barnacle.
“No,” I replied.
“Then, officer,” said Mr Merrett, “we must give him in charge.”
The bare idea of being walked off to a police-station was enough to drive all my sullenness and reserve to the four winds.
Suddenly finding my tongue, I cried—
“Oh, please don’t, please don’t! I can explain it all. For mercy sake don’t be cruel—don’t send me to prison! I am innocent, Mr Merrett, Mr Barnacle; I can explain it all. Please don’t have me locked up.”
In my confusion and panic I turned round and addressed these last words to Hawkesbury, who received them with a smile in which there was more of triumph than pity.
“You false coward!” I exclaimed, suddenly seeing who it was, “you did this. You put the key in my desk while I was locked up stairs.”