"Oh, we'll soon remedy that, sir!" laughed the landlord. He rang the bell, and an undersized youth with a shock of red hair appeared from somewhere in the back regions. "T-t-take this gentleman up to Number Six, Albert, and g-get him some hot water. I'll order your lunch, sir," he added. "It will be ready almost as soon as you are." Ten minutes later, with comparatively clean hands and a superlatively acute appetite, Mr. Bascombe re-entered the coffee-room. The fat waiter, who was just putting the finishing touches to a small table by the window, looked up as he came in. "I've laid your lunch 'ere, sir," he remarked. "It's more cheerful like." Mr. Bascombe regarded the preparations with an approving eye. "Good lad," he said, seating himself in the comfortable arm-chair set out for him. "This'll just about suit my complaint. Now you bung along and hurry up the cook." A momentary flicker of surprise illumined the fat waiter's face, but with the true philosophy of his order he recovered himself immediately. "Yes, sir," he remarked with an ingratiating smile. "Shan't keep you waiting a minute, sir." He shuffled out into the kitchen, where he repeated the phrase to the cook. "Told me to bung along and 'urry up 'is dinner. Fancy a parson speaking like that!" "P'r'aps 'e's a Roman Catholic," suggested the cook. Left to himself, Mr. Bascombe extracted a toothpick from the wine-glass on the table, and, leaning back in his chair, directed his gaze out of the window. He perceived at once that for some reason or other the usually placid main thoroughfare of Princetown was in a state of no little animation. Outside the grocer's shop opposite the hotel a group of six or seven men and women stood in the roadway talking eagerly and staring up the street. Their agitation seemed to be in some way connected with the prison, for as a warder came running hastily past they all turned and followed him with their eyes. Mr. Bascombe instinctively pushed back his chair. At that moment the door of the coffee-room swung open and the landlord hurried in, carrying a bottle of Burgundy in his hand. His face was flushed and excited. "I'm sorry to have been so long, sir," he began, "but the fact is we've had a b-b-bit of a shock. A warder has just been round to tell us that there's a c-c-convict loose in Princetown." "Gawd bless my soul!" cried Mr. Bascombe, "you don't say so!" Picking up the bottle of Burgundy, he poured himself out a glass, and drained it at a gulp. "Give me quite a turn," he explained, filling it up again. The landlord regarded him sympathetically. "Yes, sir, I d-don't wonder. The whole of P-P-Princetown's in a rare state about it." Mr. Bascombe, who still seemed to be suffering from the shock, raised his glass a second time and took two or three long, deliberate sips. "How did the beggar get away?" he inquired, setting it down again with a deep breath.