“In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of the Realm Acts, I arrest you for espionage... Matthews rolled off in glib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usual caution that anything the prisoner might say might be used against her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:
“Better put them on her, Harrison!”
The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched the dancer’s slender wrists, there was a click and she was handcuffed.
“Now take her in there,” said Matthews pointing to the bar. “There’s no exit except by this room. And don’t take your eyes off her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently with a female searcher.”
“Sir!” said the plain clothes man with military precision and touched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned and followed him into the bar.
Gordon entered by the door at the end of the room.
“I’d like you to have a look upstairs, sir,” he said to Matthews, “there’s not a soul in the house, but somebody has been locked up in one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of the panels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!”
The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted the stairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out of the window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almost obscured from view by a heavy drizzle of rain.
“Brr!” said Mr. Matthews, “what a horrible place!”
Looking up the staircase from the landing, they could see that one of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs had been pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairs and Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening, found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room where Desmond had talked with Nur-el-Din.