“Well, I don’t exactly know what he is. All I know is that he is a friend of the Earl and his wife, and that he visits at one or two good country houses. Beyond that I am ignorant.”
The detective did not reply. He was too occupied in searching for the jewel thieves. Time after time we strolled up and down, descended to the stalls, ascended to the grand circle, and had peered into every nook, but without success, until at length we entered one of the bars to drink. While we stood there, I inquired whether he had the warrant for the arrest of the man in his pocket, to which he replied in the affirmative.
“Let me have a look at it,” I urged. “I’ve never seen a warrant.”
But he shook his head, and laughing good-naturedly replied:
“No, Mr Ridgeway; you must really excuse me. It is a rigid rule in our Department that we never show warrants to anybody except the person arrested. The ends of justice might, in certain cases, be defeated by such an injudicious action; therefore it is absolutely forbidden. The warrant is always strictly secret.”
I smiled, assured him that it was only out of curiosity I had asked to see it, and then, mentioning the strange disappearance of Gilbert Sternroyd, asked him whether he had been engaged in that inquiry.
“Yes,” he said, “I have—in an indirect manner. It’s an extraordinary case, most extraordinary. Murder, without a doubt.”
“With what object?” I asked.
“As far as we can ascertain, there was absolutely no object,” he answered.
“Do they expect to make an arrest?”