"Well, that's all right," I responded cheerfully. "You won't object to that, will you? It isn't love for me that's making you look so precious uneasy, now, is it? Well, then, get on with your work, I shan't object." And producing my cigarette case I opened it and passed it carelessly to my companion, who pushed it rather petulantly on one side. "I don't want to smoke--I am much too serious for that," he snapped. "Oh," I rejoined. "Well, I am not." And I struck a match and lit a cigarette. "I don't think I ought to beat about the bush any longer," he proceeded after an irritated glance at my magnificent assumption of carelessness. "The fact is just this, I hold warrants for the arrest of yourself and that young Spanish adventurer, Jose Casteno, or to give him his proper name, Joseph Zouche." "Indeed," said I, trying to look politely interested, "that's news if you like. On what charge, pray?" "Robbery, with violence, on Worcester Racecourse--three old manuscripts, the property of Mr Peter Zouche, the hunchback, who held them as bailee!" "You surprise me," I remarked. "Really, you do. Where does Worcester happen to be?" And I gave him a look of mild and innocent inquiry that I believe would have done credit to a child of six. "You will find out all the geography you care to learn in the police station," he said, stiffly repressing a very obvious temptation to swear roundly; "for the present you must consider yourself under arrest." And he beckoned one of his men from a distance and told him to go to St Bruno's and to ask for Jose Casteno, who joined us a few moments later, clad in ordinary clothes, and was then told of the charge against us, whilst I perched myself on the root of a fallen tree and went on puffing away at my cigarette. "Now," said Naylor in conclusion, much impressed by the manner of his own eloquence, "if you two gentlemen don't mind, one of my mates will fetch a four-wheeler, and we'll drive off to Bow Street." "Do," I put in, "it will be warmer there than it is here." And I pretended to shiver as I added: "It seems to me, Naylor, there is always a cold streak in the air on Hampstead Heath; don't you think so?" The man shot me a look charged with malice and uncharitableness. But he did not take the bait. "I have," he went on with a certain amount of hesitation, "a search warrant, duly executed to go over that house there--St Bruno's. Of course, I don't want to make myself needlessly unpleasant, so if you would like to hand over the manuscripts, the subjects of the charge against you, I will not put it into execution." Jose looked at me, and I looked at him. We would both of us have dearly liked to have palmed off those forgeries upon this short-tempered individual; but it would not do.