"This is the person who will be charged, I think," Hewitt pursued, addressing the officers, and indicating Lloyd with his finger.
"What, Lloyd?" gasped Sir James, aghast. "No—not Lloyd—nonsense!"
"He doesn't seem to think it nonsense himself, does he?" Hewitt placidly observed. Lloyd had sunk on a chair, and, grey of face, was staring blindly at the man he had run against at the office door that morning. His lips moved in spasms, but there was no sound. The wilted flower fell from his button-hole to the floor, but he did not move.
"This is his accomplice," Hewitt went on, placing the parrot and cage on the hall table, "though I doubt whether there will be any use in charging him. Eh, Polly?"
The parrot put its head aside and chuckled. "Hullo, Polly!" it quietly gurgled. "Come along!"
Sir James Norris was hopelessly bewildered. "Lloyd—Lloyd—" he said, under his breath, "Lloyd—and that!"
"SIR JAMES NORRIS WAS HOPELESSLY BEWILDERED."
"This was his little messenger, his useful Mercury," Hewitt explained, tapping the cage complacently; "in fact, the actual lifter. Hold him up."