“I can't quite believe that,” Mark said; “a fast horse would have brought you up to town in an hour and a half, and another fast horse would have taken you back again as quickly; so you might have been in London at eight and back again at Crowswood by half past twelve or one, even if you stopped a couple of hours at a coffee house. However, you won't be tried for that. Those things on the table and the contents of that corn bin are enough to hang you a dozen times.” “Curse you! have you found that out?” Bastow exclaimed furiously. “We have,” Mark replied. “It would have been wiser if you had got rid of your things sooner. It was a clever hiding place, but it is always dangerous to keep such things by you, Bastow.” The man said no more, but sat quietly in his chair until they heard the vehicle stop outside the gate. Then the two constables came in, and lifting Bastow, carried him out and placed him in the bottom of the cart. “You can loose the old woman now, Malcolm,” Mark said as he took his seat and gathered the reins in his hand. “By eleven o'clock, no doubt, one of the others will be down with the gig again, and you can empty out the contents of that hole, and bring them up with you. I don't think that it will be of any use searching further. You might have a good look all round before you come away. There may be some notes stowed away, though it is likely enough that they have been sent away by post to some receiver abroad.” For some time after starting they could hear the prisoner moving about uneasily in the straw. “I suppose there is no fear of his slipping out of those handcuffs, Chester?” “Not a bit; they are full tight for him. I expect that that is what is making him uncomfortable.” Presently the movement ceased. “He is still enough now, Mr. Thorndyke. I should not be at all surprised if he has dropped off to sleep. He is hardened enough to sleep while the gibbet was waiting for him.” It was four o'clock in the morning when they drove up at Bow Street. Two constables on duty came out to the cart. “We have got a prisoner, Inspector,” Chester said. “He is the man we have been looking for so long. I fancy we have got all the swag that has been stolen for the last eighteen months--bags of jewels and watches, and sacks of silver. He is handcuffed, and his legs are tied, so we must carry him in.” The officer fetched out a lantern. The other constable helped him to let down the backboard of the cart. “Now, Bastow, wake up,” Chester said. “Here we are.” But there was no movement! “He is mighty sound asleep,” the constable said. “Well, haul him out;” and, taking the man by the shoulders, they pulled him out from the cart. “There is something rum about him,” the constable said; and as they lowered his feet to the pavement his head fell forward, and he would have sunk down if they had not supported him. The Inspector raised the lantern to his face. “Why, the man is dead,” he said. “Dead!” Chester repeated incredulously.