Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to our destination.

We were ushered into a small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged.

The official was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his duties in a dull mechanical way.

"The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, Mr.
Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say?
I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may be used against you." "I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly.

"I want to tell you gentlemen all about it." "Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial ?" asked the Inspector.
"I may never be tried," he answered.