“Anyhow,” said he to himself, crumpling up the paper in sheer vexation, “they won’t be able to do without me, I’ll take care of that. I can tell them all about it—but catch me doing it now, the snobs, unless they’re civil.”
With which valiant determination he swung himself into another cab, and ordered the man to drive to the head police-station.
The inspector was not in, but his second-in-command was, and to him, much against his will, Samuel had to explain his business.
“Well, what do you know about the prisoner?” asked the official.
“Oh, plenty. You’d better subpoena me for the next examination,” said Sam.
The sub-inspector smiled.
“You’re like all the rest of them,” he said, “think you know all about it. Come, let’s hear what you’ve got to say, young fellow; there’s plenty of work to be done here, I can tell you, without dawdling our time.”
“Thank you,” said Sam, “I’d sooner tell the magistrate.”
“Go and tell the magistrate then!” shouted the official, “and don’t stay blocking up the room here.”
This was not what Samuel expected. There was little chance of the magistrate being more impressed with his importance than a sub-inspector. So he felt the only thing for it was to bring himself to the unpleasant task of showing his cards after all.