"I have to inform you," said the sergeant of the police, "that anything that you may say to me may be used against you as evidence hereafter." Paul looked at the man's face with a kind of curiosity. For the moment he seemed to be watching some drama of events with which he had nothing to do. The three policemen were of the ordinary well-fed and somewhat self-satisfied class of men. They acted upon order, without much intelligence. Paul hesitated a moment, and began to reflect deeply. He called to mind all the events of the last few hours, and his heart was filled with a great terror. That which, a little while before, had seemed only a dark shadow now assumed tangible shape. "Very well, I will go with you," he said quietly. And then, again reflecting a moment, he continued: "But first of all I would like to speak to my mother." "No," said the sergeant. "I can't allow you to go out of my sight." "Think what you're saying, my man!" said Paul sharply. "I can't help it, sir," replied the sergeant. "I'm only acting upon orders"; and he spoke humbly, apologetically. Even at that moment a passing stranger could not have helped noticing the difference between the men. The policemen were stolid, commonplace, the mere creatures of formula; the young man whom they had come to apprehend was, to the most casual observer, a man of mark. Neither of them could help feeling it. Pale of face, clear-cut features, black, flashing eyes, square forehead, a well-shaped head covered with black, glossy hair--tall, erect, well-dressed--it might seem as though he were their master and they his servants; and yet each realised that he was a prisoner, apprehended for murder. "Very well, Broglin," said Paul quietly. "I see you take this thing seriously, and, of course, I do not wish to hinder you from doing your duty. But, at least, I have the right to know what authority you have for apprehending me?" "I have a magistrate's warrant," replied Broglin, the sergeant. "Yes; but they cannot have made out a warrant without some sufficient reason for so doing. To be charged with murder is a serious affair!" "I know it, sir," replied Broglin. He had forgotten the part he had intended to play. He was altogether conquered by the stronger personality with which he had come into contact. "Well, what are the grounds for apprehending me, then?" "First," said the policeman, after a moment's reflection, "Mr. Ned Wilson was found dead this morning. This man here, Police-Constable Ashworth, was on his beat, not far from Howden Clough, when he found him lying face on the ground, the knife driven into his heart." "Very sad, very terrible," said Paul. "But pray, what have I to do with that?"