Mr. Secretary,
therefore, was much disconcerted when he found that his pockets were
emptied of all his official documents. He languished in his cell
till about twelve o'clock, very sick and very anxious, when he was
put into a cab, and, to his great surprise, instead of being taken to
a police court, was carried to Whitehall. There he was introduced to
an elderly gentleman, who sat at the head of a long table covered
with green cloth. A younger man, apparently a clerk, sat at a
smaller table by the fire and wrote, seeming to take no notice
whatever of what was going on. Mr. Secretary expected to hear
something about transportation, and to be denounced as an enemy of
the human race; but he was pleasantly disappointed.
"Sorry to see a respectable person like you in such a position."
Mr. Secretary wondered how the gentleman knew he was respectable; but
was silent. He was not now in an eloquent or seditious humour.
"You may imagine that we know you, or we should not have taken the
trouble to bring you here. We should merely have had you committed
for trial."
The Secretary thought of his empty pockets. In truth it was the
Major who had emptied them before he crossed Holborn; but of course
he suspected the constable.
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