Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
Before he realised what had happened, the Frenchman was hustled into
the cab, two men jumped in with him, the door banged, and the car
whirled westward.
It was a car which had extraordinary privileges, for at a nod from
the man who sat by the side of the driver the City police held up the
traffic to allow it to pass. It flew down Queen Victoria Street at a
much greater speed than is permissible within the City boundaries,
and the gloved hands of the policemen on duty at the end of
Blackfriars Bridge made a clear way for it.
It turned into Scotland Yard, remained a few minutes, then returned
along the Embankment, up Northumberland Avenue, and through a side
thoroughfare to Bow Street.
Thereafter, the Frenchman's experience was bewildering. He was
searched, hurried through a passage to a small court, where a
benevolent-looking gentleman sat behind a table, on a raised dais.
The prisoner was placed in a steel pen, and a quietly dressed man
rose from the solicitors' table, and made a brief statement.
"We shall charge this man with being a suspected person, your
Worship," he said, "and ask for a remand."
Then another man went into the witness-box.
"My name is Detective-Sergeant Kiegnell, of 'A' Division," he said;
"and, from information received, I went to 976 Throgmorton Street,
where I saw the prisoner. I told him I was a police officer, and
should take him into custody."
That was all.
The magistrate scribbled something on a paper before him, and said
briefly, "Remanded."
Before the prisoner could say a word, or utter anything more than a
"_Sacré!_" he was beckoned from the dock and disappeared from court.
So unimportant was this case that none of the reporters in court
troubled to record more than the fact that "a well-dressed man of
foreign appearance was charged with loitering with intent."
Certainly nobody associated his arrest with the announcement that the
_Taglan Castle_ had left Cape Town, homeward bound.
It was an interesting voyage for the passengers of the _Taglan
Castle_, which, by the way, carried specie to the amount of £600,000.
She left Cape Town soon after dusk. The next morning, to the
surprise of her captain, she fell in with a little British fleet--the
_Doris_, the _Philomel_, and the _St. George_, flying a Commodore's
flag.
Greatest surprise of all came to the captain of the _Taglan Castle_
when he received the following signal:
"Slow down to thirteen knots, and do not part company."
To the captain's "I am carrying the mails," came the laconic message,
"I know."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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