“Will you come quietly?” the older policeman repeated, this time without any touch of commiseration.

“Yes,” said Priam.

And he went quietly.  Experience may teach with the rapidity of lightning.

“But where’s my hat?” he added after a moment, instinctively stopping.

“Now then!” said the older policeman.  “Come on.”

He walked between them, striding.  Just as they emerged into Dean’s Yard, his left hand nervously exploring one of his pockets, on a sudden encountered a piece of cardboard.

“Here’s my ticket,” he said.  “I thought I’d lost it.  I’ve had nothing at all to drink, and you’d better let me go.  The whole affair’s a mistake.”

The procession halted, while the older policeman gazed fascinated at the official document.

“Henry Leek,” he read, deciphering the name.

“He’s been a-telling every one as he’s Priam Farll,” grumbled the younger policeman, looking over the other’s shoulder.

“I’ve done no such thing,” said Priam promptly.

The elder carefully inspected the prisoner, and two little boys arrived and formed a crowd, which was immediately dispersed by a frown.

“He don’t look as if he’d had ’ardly as much drink as ’ud wash a bus, does he?” murmured the elder critically.  The younger, afraid of his senior, said nothing.  “Look here, Mr. Henry Leek,” the elder proceeded, “do you know what I should do if I was you?  I should go and buy myself a new hat, if I was you, and quick too!”

Priam hastened away, and heard the senior say to the junior, “He’s a toff, that’s what he is, and you’re a fool.  Have you forgotten as you’re on point duty?”

And such is the effect of a suggestion given under certain circumstances by a man of authority, that Priam Farll went straight along Victoria Street and at Sowter’s famous one-price hat-shop did in fact buy himself a new hat.  He then hailed a taximeter from the stand opposite the Army and Navy Stores, and curtly gave the address of the Grand Babylon Hotel.  And when the cab was fairly at speed, and not before, he abandoned himself to a fit of candid, unrestrained cursing.  He cursed largely and variously and shamelessly both in English and in French.  And he did not cease cursing.  It was a reaction which I do not care to characterize; but I will not conceal that it occurred.  The fit spent itself before he reached the hotel, for most of Parliament Street was blocked for the spectacular purposes of his funeral, and his driver had to seek devious ways.  The cursing over, he began to smooth his plumes in detail.  At the hotel, out of sheer nervousness, he gave the cabman half-a-crown, which was preposterous.

Another cab drove up nearly at the exact instant of his arrival.  And, as a capping to the day, Mrs. Alice Challice stepped out of it.

* * * * *

CHAPTER V