“By the way,” said Bourne, “you have not told me your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes; don’t be afraid. I am not likely to hand you over to justice,” and at this the doctor laughed.
“I don’t expect you are. Well, I am not ashamed of my name. It is William Rawton—Bandy-legged Bill my pals call me, because, you see, my legs were a little warped in the drying process.”
The doctor gave an involuntary start. “Rawton, eh!”
“Yes, Bill Rawton. Have you heard the name before?”
“Well I rather think some of my patients have mentioned that name. To all appearance you are a gipsy?”
“Yes, I was born a gipsy, but our camp broke up years and years ago.”
No. 49.
