into my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out.”
A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his card from his case.
“This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson.”
“Bless you, sir, we know you very well,” said the sergeant, “but you can’t stay here without a warrant.”
“Of course not. I quite understand that.”
“Arrest him!” cried Peters.
“We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted,” said the sergeant, majestically, “but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, Watson, we shall have to go.”
A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followed us.
“Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that’s the law.”
“Exactly, sergeant; you could not do otherwise.”
“I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there is anything I can do—”
“It’s a missing lady, sergeant, and we think she is in that house. I expect a warrant presently.”
“Then I’ll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let you know.”
