“I take it that you have a warrant?” demanded Colonel Westhanger. “My dear Colonel!” said Michael. “Do you imagine I should come without having gone through that little formality?” He produced the document. “Signed by two stipendary magistrates to be absolutely sure,” he said flippantly; “impound all documents you find, Parsons.” “Yes, sir,” said the man and led away the first of his victims which happened to be the docile Mr. Mulberry. “It is an unpleasant business,” sighed Michael as he watched the girl pass from the room followed by her searcher, “but then, you will understand, Colonel, that our profession is full of heartrending moments. You are still on ticket of leave, I understand?” “Expired,” growled Colonel Westhanger. “Pardon me,” said Michael. “I have been misinformed. I would like a word with you.” He led the other to the corner of the room out of earshot and the good humor died out of his voice as he confronted the older man. “Westhanger,” he said, “who was the tutor of this girl?” “I don’t quite get you?” said the other insolently. “Who taught Kate to be a thief--is that plain enough for you?” “If she is a thief it is a matter of aptitude. I deny that she is a thief or that she is a party to any illegal act of which my unfortunate friends may have been guilty--nobody taught her.” “You are a queer fellow,” said Michael. “I suppose you are just unmoral.” “My personal character--” began the other. “By unmoral, I mean you have no sense of _meum_ and _teum_. In other words, you are a born thief. You forgive me, but subtlety seems to be wasted on you. I ask you again, who educated Kate?” The Colonel smiled. “Kate has much to thank me for,” he said smugly. “I have been a father and more than a father to that child and I assure you, Mr. Pretherston, that you are altogether wrong when you think that she is a thief. Why do you ask?” he demanded, suddenly breaking off. “Because,” said Michael looking him steadily in the eye, “I believe that you have deliberately set yourself to exploit the genius of a clever child for your own profit. I believe that you, and you only, have so distorted her viewpoint that you have destroyed her soul. I am not sure yet,” he admitted, “but when I am--” “When you are,” sneered the Colonel. “On one charge or another, I shall put you into prison,” said Michael simply, “and I shall keep you in prison until you are dead. I will set myself the agreeable task of ensuring your end in a prison infirmary--which, I understand, is not a very cheerful place.” The Colonel shuddered. There was something fateful, there was something malignant, a scarcely suppressed expression of hate in the police officer’s tone. For a second the older man wilted and shrunk back beneath the fierce intensity in Michael’s voice and then, like the weakling that he was, he burst into a torrent of abuse which was founded in fear and energised by rage.