A certain man is seen--by you,
as it happens--running away as fast as he can from the scene of the
murder. Next morning that very man is found trying to get rid of a ring
which, without doubt, was taken from the murdered man's finger. What do
you think? Or--another question--what could we, police officials, do?"
"Nothing but what you're doing, I suppose," said Viner. "Still--there may
be a good deal that's--what shall I say?--behind all this."
"It's for him to speak," observed Drillford, nodding in the direction of
the cells. "He's got a bell within reach of his fingers; he's only got to
ring it and to ask for me or any solicitor he likes to name. But--we
shall see!"
Nothing had been seen or heard, in the way hinted at by Drillford, when,
an hour later, Viner, waiting in the neighbouring police-court, was aware
that the humdrum, sordid routine was about to be interrupted by something
unusual. The news of an arrest in connection with the Lonsdale Passage
murder had somehow leaked out, and the court was packed to the doors
--Viner himself had gradually been forced into a corner near the
witness-box in which he was to make an unwilling appearance.
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