The detective stared at the newcomer with blank amazement. The latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face⁠—crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-gray eyes and white lashes.

“What’s this, then?” said Lestrade, at last. “What have you been doing all this time, eh?”

Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red face of the angry detective.

“I have done no harm.”

“No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If it wasn’t for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not have succeeded.”

The wretched creature began to whimper.

“I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke.”