ttled] I hate the idea of it.

COKESON. That's rather 'ex parte', Mr. Walter! We must have
protection.

JAMES. This is degenerating into talk.

He moves towards the partners' room.

WALTER. Put yourself in his place, father.

JAMES. You ask too much of me.

WALTER. We can't possibly tell the pressure there was on him.

JAMES. You may depend on it, my boy, if a man is going to do this
sort of thing he'll do it, pressure or no pressure; if he isn't
nothing'll make him.

WALTER. He'll never do it again.

COKESON. [Fatuously] S'pose I were to have a talk with him. We
don't want to be hard on the young man.

JAMES. That'll do, Cokeson. I've made up my mind. [He passes into
the partners' room.]

COKESON. [After a doubtful moment] We must excuse your father. I
don't want to go against your father; if he thinks it right.

WALTER. Confound it, Cokeson! why don't you back me up? You know
you feel----

COKESON. [On his dignity] I really can't say what I feel.

WALTER. We shall regret it.

COKESON. He must have known what he was doing.

WALTER. [Bitterly] "The quality of mercy is not strained."

COKESON. [Looking at him askance] Come, come, Mr. Walter. We must
try and see it sensible.

SWEEDLE. [Entering with a tray] Your lunch, sir.

COKESON. Put it down!

While SWEEDLE is putting it down on COKESON's table, the
detective, WISTER, enters the outer office, and, finding no one
there, comes to the inner doorway. He is a square, medium-sized
man, clean-shaved, in a serviceable blue serge suit and strong
boots.

COKESON. [Hoarsely] Here! Here! What are we doing?

WISTER. [To WALTER] From Scotland Yard, sir. Detective-Sergeant
Blister.

WALTER. [Askance] Very well! I'll speak to my father.

He goes into the partners' room. JAMES enters.

JAMES. Morning! [In answer to an appealing gesture from COKESON]
I'm sorry; I'd stop short of this if I felt I could. Open that door.
[SWEEDLE, wondering and scared, opens it] Come here, Mr. Falder.

As FALDER comes shrinkingly out, the detective in obedience to a
sign from JAMES, slips his hand out and grasps his arm.

FALDER. [Recoiling] Oh! no,--oh! no!

WALTER. Come, come, there's a good lad.

JAMES. I charge him with felony.

FALTER. Oh, sir! There's some one--I did it for her. Let me be
till to-morrow.

JAMES motions with his hand. At that sign of hardness,