“You’re surely not going to drive me through the open country, with these things on my hands—are you?” he asked bitterly. “If I give you my word not to attempt to escape——” “We won’t trust your word, Dandy Chater,” said Tokely, grinning again. “You’ve given us a pretty good chase, as it is—and any amount of trouble; and there are one or two people”—he glanced for a moment at Toby, and then at Betty Siggs—“against whom I intend to apply for warrants—for aiding and abetting you to escape, and for obstructing me in the execution of my duty. I’ve been hit over the head with decanters—and have barked myself painfully again trees—and have been struck heavily in the region of the ribs by——” “If you should ’appen to refer to me, with that there last remark”—said Toby, slowly—“let me recommend that you don’t go a jumping’—promiscuous-like—on a man’s corns, without so much as ‘by yer leave.’ I don’t permit no man—much less a perliceman—to jump on me in my own parlour.” Without deigning any reply to this, the Inspector told off two or three of the men to remain with him, and dismissed the others outside the door, which he shut. The crowd by the sounds which proceeded from the yard, was evidently in no mood to go home to bed; but remained, discussing the matter excitedly, and no doubt taking much individual credit to itself, for the successful issue of the business. For a long and weary half hour, Philip sat, with his eyes upon the ground, waiting until such time as the man who had been sent for a conveyance should return; and, during that time, a curious thing happened. There sat next to him, a tall, thin individual, with a melancholy visage—a man who had not, curiously enough, taken any part in the actual fray, but who, nevertheless, had thrust himself forward eagerly, when the men who were to guard the prisoner were selected. Once or twice, Philip was under the curious impression that the man was striving to attract his attention; he lunged out one of his thin legs at him sideways, once or twice, while the Inspector happened to be engaged in conversation with the constable and the other men. At last, he found an excuse to get up from his chair, and pass in front of Philip; tripped—purposely, as it seemed over the prisoner’s feet; and turned swiftly to make an apology. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, I’m sure—’adn’t no intention of”—the words died away, in a sort of growl; but at the end of them, as the man bent his head to speak, Philip heard distinctly the whisper—“Cap’n Quist.”