Barton sulkily awaiting
us, handcuffed to one of the constables, and watched by Polton with
pensive disapproval.
"I needn't trouble you to-night, Doctor," said the sergeant, as he
marshalled his little troop of captors and captives. "You'll hear from
us in the morning. Good-night, sir."
The melancholy procession moved off down the stairs, and we retired into
our chambers with Anstey to smoke a last pipe.
"A capable man, that Barton," observed Thorndyke--"ready, plausible, and
ingenious, but spoilt by prolonged contact with fools. I wonder if the
police will perceive the significance of this little affair."
"They will be more acute than I am if they do," said I.
"Naturally," interposed Anstey, who loved to "cheek" his revered senior,
"because there isn't any. It's only Thorndyke's bounce. He is really in
a deuce of a fog himself."
However this may have been, the police were a good deal puzzled by the
incident, for, on the following morning, we received a visit from no
less a person than Superintendent Miller, of Scotland Yard.
"This is a queer business," said he, coming to the point at once--"this
burglary, I mean.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234