While he ate he kept an amused eye on the window, noting the various symptoms of unrest which were still apparent in the street. It seemed as though most of the able-bodied men in Princetown were joining in the search. Armed with sticks or pitchforks, they came hurrying past one after another to offer their services. In every case Mr. Bascombe gravely drank the health of the new arrival. Finally, when the Burgundy was finished, he got up a little unsteadily from the table and rang the bell. It was answered by the waiter. Mr. Bascombe looked at him affectionately. "'Ullo, Percy!" he remarked; "back again, eh?" "Yes, sir; you rang, sir." "So I did. You're quite right, Percy. What was it I wanted?" His face brightened. "Oh, yes, the port wine and a cigar--the best quality cigar, mark you. None of your penny stinkers. You tell old whiskers; he'll see to it." "Yes, sir," murmured the waiter with a gasp. He retired from the room, to be succeeded a minute later by the landlord, bearing an aged-looking black bottle in one hand and a large cigar-box in the other. "I hope you enjoyed your lunch, sir," he said, placing these treasures on the table. "First-rate," replied Mr. Bascombe, smacking his lips. "You found the wine all right, sir?" Mr. Bascombe nodded humorously. "Yes, he was hiding in the bottle, but I got him out." This witticism was much to the taste of the landlord, who laughed uproariously. "That's g-good, sir! G-g-got him out! Well, I've got something here that I think you'll find the right sort. A drop of real g-g-genuine '58--c-c-comet year, you know, sir. I don't offer it to many gentlemen." He carefully poured out a glassful and held it up to the light. Mr. Bascombe sniffed it, took a long sip, and then set down the wineglass with a wink. "A little bit of orlright," was his verdict. "Have a glass yourself, landlord?" "Thank you, sir; I don't mind if I do." While he was translating his words into action Mr. Bascombe opened the cigar-box, which was full of long, light brown Havanas. "I d-don't know if these are too large, sir?" observed the landlord. "I can g-g-get you a smaller brand if you pre-prefer it." "Don't you trouble yourself," replied his obliging guest. He selected one, bit off the end, and, lighting it with a match from a stand on the mantelpiece, blew out a thick cloud of fragrant smoke. It was the supreme moment of his adventure. He felt that Fate had nothing more to offer him. "N-no news of the convict yet, sir," remarked the landlord. "The whole of P-Princetown's out hunting for him." "Yes," said Mr. Bascombe with a chuckle. "I've been watching 'em go by. Very handy lot o' chaps they looked." He was silent for a moment, then suddenly an idea--a terrific; dazzling idea--flooded his imagination. "Can you let me have a carriage?" he inquired. "Why, c-certainly, sir. How far are you thinking of going?" Mr. Bascombe puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.