These three all looked towards us as we entered, each with a different expression. Bickerdale's face became angry, almost savage; Pawley appeared, after his first glance of surprise, to be intensely annoyed. But Parslewe, half turning, motioned to the inspector and whispered a few words to him; the inspector, his plain-clothes man, and myself remained after that in the doorway by which we had entered, and Parslewe gave his attention to Bickerdale, to whose side, near the fireplace, Weech, still nervous and upset, had made his way round the table.
"Now then, Bickerdale!" he said. "Without any more to do about it, you'll give me that document—you, or Weech, or both of you! Do you hear—hand it over!"
"No!" exclaimed Pawley. "I object. If there's any handing over, Mr. Parslewe, it'll be to me. And as you've brought police here, I'd better say at once that———"
Parslewe suddenly rose from his chair. He held up his left hand—towards Pawley. There was something in the gesture that made Pawley break off short in his words and remain silent. As for Parslewe's right hand,
