The whole affair was such a mystery to me, and of such sudden occurrence, that it was some seconds before I could collect myself sufficiently to put any such calm and rational queries to my captors as might elicit an explanation of it.  All that I could say was merely to repeat my inquiry as to the meaning of the treatment I was undergoing—­resisting instinctively, the while, the efforts of the men to urge me forward.  This last, however, was vain; for they were two powerful fellows, and seemed scarcely to feel the resistance I made.  To my reiterated demand of explanation they merely replied that I should have it presently, but that they rather thought I did not stand greatly in need of it.

Obliged to rest satisfied, in the meantime, with such evasive answers, and finding resistance useless, indeed uncalled for, as I was unconscious of any crime, I now went peaceably along with the men.  Whither they were conducting me the reader will readily guess; it was to Bow Street.

On being brought into the office, the men conducted me up to a person who, seated at a desk, was busily employed making entries in a large book.  One of my captors having whispered something into this person’s ear, he turned sharply round and demanded my name.  I gave it him.

“The others?” he said.

“What others?” I replied.  “I have only one name, and I have given it.”

“Pho, pho!” exclaimed he.  “Gentlemen of your profession have always a dozen.  However, we’ll take what you have given in the meantime.”  And he proceeded to make some entries in his book.  They related to me, but I was not permitted to see what they were.  The table-spoon which had been found in my pocket, and which had been placed on the desk before the official already spoken of, was now labelled and put past, and I was ordered to be removed.

During all this time I had been loudly protesting my innocence of any crime; but no attention whatever was paid to me.  So little effect, indeed, had my protestations, that one would have thought, judging by the unmoved countenances around me, that they did not hear me at all, for they went on speaking to each other, quite in the same way as if I had not been present.  The only indication I could perceive of a consciousness of my being there, and of their hearing what I said, was an occasional faint smile of incredulity.  At one time, provoked by my importunity and my obstinate iteration of my innocence, the official who was seated at the desk turned fiercely round, exclaiming—­

“The spoon, the spoon, friend; what do you say to that—­found in your pocket, eh?”

I solemnly protested that I knew not how it came there; that I had never put it there, nor had the least idea of its being in my possession till it was produced by those that searched me.

“A very likely story,” said the official, turning quietly round to his book; “but we’ll see all about that by-and-by.  Remove him, men.”