"Well, sir, it seems as how, b-being a scene-painter by trade, the warders had taken him down to the Recreation Rooms to p-paint a bit o' stuff for the p-p-play they're doing next week. They left him for a minute in the room behind the stage, and when they came back they found he'd f-forced the door and slipped out." "Careless! careless!" interpolated Mr. Bascombe, filling up his glass. "Yes, sir, but the amazing thing is, what's happened to him? Being in c-c-convict clothes, one would think he must have been spotted directly he showed his nose outside." A slow smile stole across Mr. Bascombe's face. "It's a fair puzzler," he admitted. "If he'd got some sort of a disguise like, now, one could understand it; but----" There was a clatter of hoofs, and several uniformed men on horseback galloped past the hotel. The landlord ran to the window. "There g-goes the civil g-g-guard," he stammered. Mr. Bascombe again raised his glass. "Here's luck to 'em!" he remarked generously. As he drank the toast the fat waiter re-entered bearing a well-laden tray, which he put down on the neighbouring table. "Ah! Here's your lunch, sir," said the landlord. "I told them to send you up the c-c-cold tart and a bit of cheese as well. I thought you'd be able to manage a square meal after your walk." "You thought correct," said Mr. Bascombe gratefully. The waiter deposited a dish in front of him, and removed the cover. From a large steak, crowned with little brown curls of onion, a most exquisite flavour mounted into the air. Mr. Bascombe reverently transferred the entire pile to his own plate, and then helped himself to a majestic hoard of chipped potatoes. "You're sure you've got everything you want, sir?" inquired the landlord with unintentional sarcasm. His guest gazed meditatively round the table, "Well, I think we might say a cigar, and a glass of port wine to top up with," he observed. "No hurry about 'em." "I'll bring them in, sir, if you'll just tell the waiter when you're ready." "Right-o," murmured Mr. Bascombe, lifting a huge forkful to his mouth. "Shall I fill your glass, sir?" inquired the waiter, as the landlord departed. Mr. Bascombe nodded. "You needn't stop here, Percy," he remarked when the operation was completed. "I can get through this little lot on my own." "Very well, sir," said the waiter. "There's a bell on the mantelpiece, sir, if you want me." He withdrew to the kitchen, pondering darkly on the unconventional habits of the Roman Catholic clergy. Unembarrassed by company, Mr. Bascombe gave himself up without reserve to the enjoyment of his meal. Having finished the steak and mopped up the gravy with a bit of bread, he reluctantly pushed back his plate and turned his attention to the tart. Two generous helpings of this luxury sufficed him, his repast concluding with a slab of bread-and-cheese that must effectually have filled up any spare corners remaining.