Then, with a wave of his hand and a merry smile, the elusive person--for such he no doubt was--went forth into the corridor and disappeared. I took up my previous position, so that when the train ran into Exeter I was seated with my back to the window, one leg upon the cushion, lazily reading a newspaper which I had found in Dawnay's pocket. Much bustle was going on outside on the platform, and I knew that the police-officer had passed in order to reassure himself that I had not escaped. For perhaps ten minutes I sat there in lazy indolence, until at last the train moved off again, and once more I was free from observation. I could not for the life of me discern why the man had feared to be seen in my company. Arnold must have somehow foreseen that his friend would be watched, and had therefore prearranged the sign of the gloves. Perhaps he had expected that another enemy, not the police, would be watching. Yet even there, in the train, Dawnay had expressed fear lest we be observed together. It was a point the full meaning of which I failed to grasp. At Taunton we stopped again, and I assumed my attitude just as before, with my back to the window, when of a sudden the carriage door was flung open unceremoniously, and a man's voice exclaimed-- "Alfred Dawnay, I am a police-officer and I hold a warrant for your arrest!" I roused myself slowly and, facing the man who had addressed me, remarked in a cool voice-- "I think you've made a slight mistake--eh? My name is not Dawnay." The man in the straw hat uttered an ejaculation of surprise and stood staring at me dumbfounded, while a man at his side, evidently one of the Taunton police in plain clothes, looked at us both in wonder. "If you are not Dawnay, then where is Dawnay?" demanded the detective quickly. "How do I know?" "But you are wearing his clothes! You assisted him to escape, therefore you will have to make some explanation." "I have no explanation to offer," I said. "If you want Dawnay you'd better go and look for him. You have no warrant to arrest me merely because I happen to be wearing clothes resembling Dawnay's." "Perhaps not, my dear sir," replied the detective, greatly annoyed at being thus outwitted. "But I tell you it will be better for you to be quite frank and outspoken with us. When did Dawnay leave this train-- tell me?" "I don't know," I replied, which was really the truth. And the chagrin of the two police-officers was now fully apparent. "But you've rendered yourself liable to prosecution, don't forget that," said the man with the straw hat. "That man, Alfred Dawnay, _alias_ Day, is wanted on a very serious charge." "Of what?" I asked quickly. "Never mind what. You've assisted him to escape, and you'll have to answer for it." And he closed the door angrily, for the train was again about to move off towards London. What, I wondered, was the serious charge against Alfred Dawnay? CHAPTER SIX. THE QUICK AND THE DEAD.