"I hope the police will be able to find the scoundrels without making too much fuss about it," he said, flicking the steed viciously with his whip. "One doesn't want the papers to get hold of a thing like this."
I quite believed that nothing would annoy him more. "We must hope for the best," I said cheerfully. "I don't mind a little trouble, if I can help you clear the neighbourhood of a gang like that."
I have no doubt that he was grateful for this magnanimous sentiment, but he didn't trouble to express it in words. We tooled on down the road in silence, and passing through the outskirts of Woodford, drew up at the police station, where a polite gentleman in corduroy trousers shambled forward from a side-walk and took the horse's head. On the steps stood a depressed-looking constable, who touched his helmet when he recognised Maurice.
"Is the Inspector in?" asked the latter.
The constable at once brisked up. "Yes, sir; just come along 'arf a minute ago. D'ye want to see him, sir?"
Maurice nodded, and clambering out of the trap, we followed Robert up the steps and into the office.
The Inspector, a large, solid-looking person, was seated at a desk laboriously writing. As we entered he laid down his pen with a sigh and wiped his fingers on his trousers.
"Good morning, Mr. Furnivall," he said. "What can I have the pleasure of doing for you this morning?" Then, seeing me, he added politely: "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Inspector," said Maurice. "We have come on rather a serious business."
The Inspector assumed what I can only imagine he meant for an official expression. Placing his hands on his knees and turning his toes in, he leaned forward and scowled at us.