Guilty Bonds

Why need I? Was it not a disgrace to be arrested? For Vera’s sake I felt I must keep the matter secret.

“Harold Dobson,” I replied, uttering the first name that occurred to me.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.” The inspector filled in the charge-sheet.

“Where do you live?”

Again I hesitated.

“No use hatching up any lies! Where do you live?”

“I refuse to say.”

“Hum!” muttered the officer as if to himself. “It’s only guilty persons who refuse their address; but if you won’t answer, then there’s an end of it. What are you?”

“Nothing.”

“Gentleman at large, I suppose,” said he, smiling incredulously as he surveyed my clothes.

“Very well; no occupation,” and then there was a silence of some minutes, only broken by the hissing of the flaring gas-jet, and the monotonous scratching of the inspector’s quill.

“Sign your names,” he commanded, when he had finished; and the two constables who had arrested me appended their signatures.

“Now, prisoner,” said the inspector, as he blotted the charge-sheet, “you are charged with breaking and entering the dwelling-house, Number 4, Angel Court, Drury Lane, for the purpose of committing a felony. I must caution you that any statement you make will be taken down and used as evidence against you.”

“I don’t see how I can be suspected of a felony when the place is unoccupied,” I replied.

“You must leave that point to be decided to-morrow by the magistrate. A man don’t break into a house for nothing.”

“Two days ago a man died in that house, and I was searching for his body in order to give you information,” I said.

“That can’t be true, sir,” interposed one of the men. “The house hasn’t been lived in for a year or more.”

“Well, if a man died there a couple of days ago there would be surely be some furniture, or some traces of habitation. When he’s in the cell, go and examine the premises thoroughly.”

“Very well, sir,” the man answered.

“Now,” said the inspector, turning to me, “have you anything more to say?”

“Nothing; I’ve told you the truth.”

“Turn out your pockets. We’ll take care of your valuables,” he said laying stress on the last word, as if it were not likely my possessions were worth much.

The constable lifted the bar allowing me to step from the dock, and I went to a small table and commenced placing the contents of my pockets thereon. Some silver, my pocket-book, penknife, pencil-case, and other articles I produced, each of which were examined by the two men.

The pocket-book, one that Vera had given me, attracted the most curiosity, and one of them opened it and commenced reading my memoranda, also scrutinising the various papers and cards therein.

“Hulloa, what’s this?” he suddenly exclaimed, holding a piece of paper nearer his eyes and examining it carefully. The ejaculation caused the other constable to peer over his shoulder, while the inspector rose and walked towards them.

It was then only that I recognised the horrifying reality. It was the fatal seal, the one given me by the strange man, now dead, that they had discovered? “Why, great Heavens!” cried the inspector, as he took the paper from the man’s hand, “don’t you see? It’s the seal that puzzled us so last year!”

“Good God? so it is!” ejaculated both the men almost simultaneously, a look of abject astonishment upon their faces.

The inspector lifted his eyes from the seal and glanced at me keenly. He had been thoroughly taken by surprise at the discovery, but did not lose his head.

“Warner,” he said, hastily, addressing one of the men, “go round to the superintendent and ask him to come here at once.”

“Right, sir!” and, swinging his cape around his shoulders, the man departed.

“Richards, remain here with the prisoner,” he added, as he turned and left the charge-room also.

A few moments later the sharp ring of the telegraph bell in the outer office broke upon my ear, followed by the whirr and click of the instrument; and with a sinking heart I knew that information of my capture was being flashed to Scotland Yard.

For myself I cared nothing. I had never told Vera of my connection with that series of mysterious crimes that had startled the country, and was only thinking of the means by which I could still keep her in ignorance of the facts.

I had given a fictitious name and refused my address; if I were firm and careful not to commit myself I might still be able to keep my identity a secret.

What a fool I had been, thought I, not to have left the seal in the cash-box, as I first intended, and this reflection brought with it another, more maddening, when I remembered that, although I was bearing this oppression and mental torture for Vera’s sake, nevertheless I had found a portion of a seal at Elveham, identical with that which had produced such a consternation among the police.

Again I was seized with that horrible apprehension that Vera wished to rid herself of me, and the seal I found in my library was to have been placed on the next victim – myself!