“What the devil do we do now?” Scuddamore asked.
“We arrest them,” Watters said. “We heard two voices; we know one is Abernethy, who is a cracksman and not normally violent. The other we think is Boyle, who may have been in the army,” he gave hurried instructions. “I’ll take Boyle. You two arrest Abernethy.”
“I’d be better taking Boyle, Sergeant,” Duff flexed his muscles, drawing his staff.
“No!” Watters said. He stopped outside the door leading to the hall, with his heart racing and his mouth suddenly dry. “I trusted that man, and I want to arrest him. Whatever we do, don’t put anybody’s lives at risk.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Scuddamore agreed.
“On the count of three.” Watters heard the murmur of voices from beyond the door, with one man’s outraged protests. “One, two, three,” he kicked op
