One closed the doorway with his bulk, and the other thumped heavily down a flight or two of stairs, from whence his shout ascended:-- "We've got him up here, Lieutenant! Come on up!" Within the tiny room of the second maid no one spoke.

Presently heavy footfalls mounted; the second policeman entered, and presently two solid men in civilian dress pushed through the door.

The foremost, a dark-visaged man with heavy jaw, and a black derby which he did not remove, fixed on Mr.Pyecroft a triumphant, domineering gaze.
"Well, Preston," he said, "so we've landed you at last." Mr.Pyecroft, his left forefinger still keeping the place in "Wormwood," stared at the speaker in bewilderment.
"Pardon me, sir, but I completely fail to understand what you are talking about." "Don't try that con stuff on us; we won't fall for it," advised the lieutenant.

He smiled with satiric satisfaction; he was something of a wit in the department.

"But if you ain't sure who you are, I'll put you wise: Mr.Thomas Preston, forger of the Jefferson letters, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to yourself.