Inspector Curtis nodded, and rising to his feet crossed the room to a series of pigeon-holes, from one of which he took out an official-looking paper.
"I will read you the charge against you," he said.
I am afraid I cannot recall now the exact phraseology of this impressive document. Briefly speaking, it accused me of having wilfully done to death one Stuart Northcote on the night of the 17th of September at a place called Baxter's Rents in East Street, Stepney. I need hardly say that, sleepy as I was, I listened with the utmost attention while the good man read it out slowly in a serious voice.
"Thank you very much," I said, when he had finished. Then for the life of me I was unable to control a long and most inopportune yawn.
"I really must apologise," I said. "It was most interesting: but the truth is, I'm half asleep."
Both of them smiled.
"You can turn in at once, if you wish to," said Inspector Curtis, folding up the document. "You are also at liberty to communicate with your solicitor or to send any other message."
I shook my head. "A bed," I observed, "is all I want at present. We'll do the communicating to-morrow morning."
"Come with me, then," remarked Inspector Neil, and turning round he conducted me out of the office and down the corridor to a small, plainly furnished bedroom, the window of which was heavily guarded with iron bars. There was a bed, however, and the sheets looked clean, and in my present state of sleepiness that was more than enough for me.
"You will be able to send round to-morrow for your own things," said the Inspector, "but I think you'll be comfortable enough for to-night."