The policeman opened an office door, saluted, and motioned me to enter.

"Detective Coogan," he said, "here's your man."

Detective Coogan, from behind his desk, nodded with the careless
dignity of official position.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Wilton," he said affably.

If I betrayed surprise at being called by Henry's name, Detective
Coogan did not notice it. But I hastened to disclaim the dangerous
distinction.

"I am not Wilton," I declared. "My name is Dudley--Giles Dudley."

At this announcement Detective Coogan turned to the policeman. "Just
step into Morris' room, Corson, and tell him I'm going up to the
morgue."

"Now," he continued, as the policeman closed the door behind him, "this
won't do, Wilton. We've had to overlook a good deal, of course, but you
needn't think you can play us for suckers all the time."

"But I tell you I'm not--" I began, when he interrupted me.

"You can't make that go here," he said contemptuously. "And I'll tell
you what, Wilton, I shall have to take you into custody if you don't
come down to straight business. We don't want to chip in on the old
man's play, of course, especially as we don't know what his game is."
Detective Coogan appeared to regret this admission that he was not