‘I think so,’ said the detective. ‘As soon as you’re safe away I can collar Josh. He’ll do for me.’ CHAPTER LXVI. BESS MAKES A CONFESSION. George, I want to tell you something.’ George and Bess were sitting upstairs in the little room which they occupied in Heckett’s house. Josh had fallen into a doze, and Bess, who had nursed him devotedly, had stolen upstairs to her husband, for her mind was troubled. She had been round to Mrs. Jarvis that morning, and Mrs. Jarvis had started off down to the late Squire Heritage’s with a note for Gertie. The sands of the old man’s life were running fast, and he yearned for the presence of his granddaughter—‘Gertie’s gal,’ as he called her. Bess had seen the Jarvises once or twice, for hers was not a nature to forget such service as these simple, good-hearted people had rendered her and her husband in their hour of peril. Mr. Jarvis had emerged from his adventure with the police with flying colours. They were unable to obtain the slightest proof that he had ever thoroughly harboured the runaway, since he had boldly declared that when the detectives had the confounded impudence to come searching for convicts at his residence he had declared they should find one, and so had donned the clothes which he had found in Mrs. Smith’s rooms. ‘Oh,’ said the Inspector, ‘then he was there?’ ‘Of course he was,’ answered Mr. Jarvis; ‘the gentleman came to see his wife, but he didn’t stop. I didn’t know as he was a conwick; he didn’t come and say “Guvnor, I’m a conwick,” he dissembled, like willuns always does in the dramer. I thought he was a respectable cove come from a woyage.’ ‘Then why didn’t you say he had been at your house when the officer came with a warrant, instead of deceiving him?’ ‘Deceiving him!’ exclaimed Mr. Jarvis; ‘me deceive the police! Get out, guvuor! Why, I wouldn’t do it. I tell you, I put on the clos for to see if they’d fit me, ’cos I’m a-going to play a conwick in a new drama what my son wrote for the show. Clever boy he is, I can tell you; he’ll be a writer for Drury Lane afore long.’ ‘Nevermind about Drury Lane,’ said the Inspector. ‘Why did you deceive the officer?’ ‘I’m a cornin’ to it; you can’t have all five hacs at once, yer know. Well, I was a-tryin’ on the clos, when my missus calls up as the perlice is at the door. “This is hockard, I sez, goessin’ what they wanted; ’blest if they won’t take me for the conwick!” So I hides under the bed, not a-wantin’ for to be dragged through the streets for the public to see the part gratis, as might interfere with the receipts, ’cos if the public can see you for nothink as a conwick they ain’t likely for to pay, are they?’ It was in vain that the Inspector cross-examined the showman; the latter stuck to his talc, and produced undoubted evidence of his respectability. ‘Of course,’ said the Inspector, ‘we could charge you with being in possession of the Government clothing, you know.’ Mr. Jarvis looked down the convict’s suit.