On the fourth day he had completed his business with the dealer. The longed-for letter must have come by this time. He resolved to return to London by the nine o'clock train next morning.
In the evening, as he was packing his valise, there was a knock at the bedroom door. He opened it, and found the man standing outside.
"You are Mr. Masterman, I believe?"
"Yes, my name is Masterman."
"I want a word with you, if you please."
"You must be quick then. I'm busy—I leave to-morrow morning for London."
"I also leave to-morrow morning. We might travel together."
"What do you mean, sir? I don't know you, and I don't in the least desire your company."
"Very few people do," said the man, with a quiet smile. There was something in that smile indefinitely stealthy, hostile, menacing; it sent an icy thrill through the heart and curdled the marrow in the bones. "Mr. Masterman," the man went on, in a low, firm voice, "I'm sorry to cause you personal inconvenience. You will understand that I have a duty to perform. You must go with me, sir."
"Why, what ... what ... do you mean you arrest me?"