a cheque for the amount agreed upon, and signed it.  Then he handed it to the Doctor.  Polperro just clutched at it.  Meanwhile, I took up my post by the door, while two men in plain clothes, detectives from the police-station, stood as men-servants and watched the windows.  We feared lest the impostor, once he had got the cheque, should dodge us somehow, as he had already done at Nice and in Paris.  The moment he had pocketed his money with a smile of triumph, I advanced to him rapidly.  I had in my possession a pair of handcuffs.  Before he knew what was happening, I had slipped them on his wrists and secured them dexterously, while the constable stepped forward.  “We have got you this time!” I cried.  “We know who you are, Dr. Polperro.  You are—­Colonel Clay, alias Señor Antonio Herrera, alias the Reverend Richard Peploe Brabazon.”

I never saw any man so astonished in my life!  He was utterly flabbergasted.  Charles thought he must have expected to get clear away at once, and that this prompt action on our part had taken the fellow so much by surprise as to simply unman him.  He gazed about him as if he hardly realised what was happening.

“Are these two raving maniacs?” he asked at last, “or what do they mean by this nonsensical gibberish about Antonio Herrera?”

The constable laid his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, my man,” he said.  “We’ve got warrants out against you.  I arrest you, Edward Polperro, alias the Reverend Richard Peploe Brabazon, on a charge of obtaining money under false pretences from Sir Charles Vandrift, K.C.M.G., M.P., on his sworn information, now here subscribed to.”  For Charles had had the thing drawn out in readiness beforehand.

Our prisoner drew himself up.  “Look here, officer,” he said, in an offended tone, “there’s some mistake here in this matter.  I have never given an alias at any time in my life.  How do you know this is really Sir Charles Vandrift?  It may be a case of bullying personation.  My belief is, though, they’re a pair of escaped lunatics.”

“We’ll see about that to-morrow,” the constable said, collaring him.  “At present you’ve got to go off with me quietly to the station, where these gentlemen will enter up the charge against you.”

They carried him off, protesting.  Charles and I signed the charge-sheet; and the officer locked him up to await his examination next day before the magistrate.

We were half afraid even now the fellow would manage somehow to get out on bail and give us the slip in spite of everything; and, indeed, he protested in the most violent manner against the treatment to which we were subjecting “a gentleman in his position.”  But Charles took care to tell the police it was all right; that he was a dangerous and peculiarly slippery criminal, and that on no account must they let him go on any pretext whatever, till he had been properly examined before the magistrates.