"Let _go_ of me! Take your 'ole hands _out_ of my pocket. Mind your _own_ business! Well, I'm a detective, but I've not got any handcuffs. Leave _go_ of me--I've left my bloodhound behind--that's not _your_ stuff--well it isn't his'n--it's stole stuff. I've tooken it 'cause I'm a detective--let _go_ of me, I say. Leave go of my dressing-gown, will you? I'll call the police--I say he's a robber, an' I bet he's a murderer--will you let _go_ of me? He's a gang--look at his handkerchiefs--what d'you think of that--well, will you let _go_----?"
Still expostulating, William was dragged into the dining-room. Mr. Croombe covered his face with his hands.
"That's it," he said. "Don't bring it too near."
"It's the thief," said the young men excitedly. "Look at his pockets full of things!"
"Leave _go_ of me!" said William, with rising irritability.
Mrs. Brown, meeting her son face to face in such circumstances, did the only possible thing. She fainted dead away and did not recover till the crisis was partially over.
William frenziedly accused Mr. Croombe of theft and murder. He referred to handcuffs and bloodhounds. He said wildly that he had had the house surrounded by police. It took about half an hour to convince him of his mistake.
"How do you _know_ they're their own things? They only _say_ so--I've seen him walking suspicious with a bag full of something. Well, how do you _know_ he isn't a gang?"
William, at the head of the gaily-decorated table, pale and determined, in his dressing-gown, gesticulated wildly with his hands full of jewellery.
Mr. Croombe was apologetic and pleading, wistfully grateful to William for being real.
William--only gradually, and under the influence of a large and indigestible meal which Mr. Croombe insisted on giving him in proof of his gratitude--forgot his grievances.
Later, he found his father less sympathetic. Later still, he surveyed the world scornfully through his bedroom window, and thought of his family. It was no good trying to do anything with a family. The only thing was to cut loose from it altogether.
Mentally he surveyed the past evening. Everything was different in real life. What was the good of being a detective when everybody said the people hadn't done the things?