The policemen looked us over, deliberately, forming their own judgement. Even then everything might have been well had not Mulcaster joined in. ‘Look here, my good man,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for you to notice anything. We’ve just come from Ma Mayfield’s. I reckon she pays you a nice retainer to keep your eyes shut. Well, you can keep ’em shut on us too, and you won’t be the losers by it.’

That resolved any doubts which the policemen may have felt. In a short time we were in the cells.

I remember little of the journey there or the process of admission. Mulcaster, I think, protested vigorously and, when we were made to empty our pockets, accused his gaolers of theft. Then we were locked in, and my first clear memory is of tiled walls with a lamp set high up under thick glass, a bunk, and a door which had no handle on my side. Somewhere to the left of me Sebastian and Mulcaster were raising Cain. Sebastian had been steady on his legs and fairly composed on the way to the station; now, shut in, he seemed in a frenzy and was pounding the door, and shouting: ‘Damn you, I’m not drunk. Open this door. I insist on seeing the doctor. I tell you I’m not drunk,’ while Mulcaster, beyond, cried: ‘My God, you’ll pay for this! You’re making a great mistake, I can tell you. Telephone the Home Secretary. Send for my solicitors. I will have habeas corpus.’

Groans of protest rose from the other cells where various tramps and pickpockets were trying to get some sleep: ‘Aw, pipe down!’ ‘Give a man some peace, can’t yer?’…‘Is this a blinking lock-up or a looney-house?’ – and the sergeant, going his rounds, admonished them through the grille. ‘You’ll be here all night if you don’t sober up.’

I sat on the bunk in low spirits and dozed a little. Presently the racket subsided and Sebastian called: ‘I say, Charles, are you there?’

‘Here I am.’

‘This is the hell of a business.’

‘Can’t we get bail or something?’

Mulcaster seemed to have fallen alseep.

‘I tell you the man – Rex Mottram. He’d be in his element here.’

We had some difficulty in getting in touch with him; it was half an hour before the policeman in charge answered my bell. At last he consented, rather sceptically, to send a telephone message to the hotel where the ball was being held. There was another long delay and then our prison doors were opened.

Seeping through the squalid air of the police station, the sour smell of dirt and disinfectant, came the sweet, rich smoke of a Havana cigar – of two Havana cigars, for the sergeant in charge was smoking also.

Rex stood in the charge-room looking the embodiment – indeed, the burlesque – of power and prosperity; he wore a fur-lined overcoat with broad astrakhan lapels and a silk hat. The police were deferential and eager to help.