"No; steal his portmanteau," said Mr. Thaxton.
"Good-night," said Mr. Dockett, and he made a step forward, but the cart seemed to jolt at that moment, for he missed his footing, staggered, and fell against Leicester, managing as he fell to drag off Leicester's hat, spectacles and false beard.
Then, before any one could utter a word, he leaped to his feet, laid his hand upon Leicester's shoulder, and, with a quiet grin, said:
"Mr. Leicester Dodson, I arrest you on a charge of willful murder! Here is the warrant—I've always carried it with me. No resistance, I hope?"
"None," said Leicester, with a dread calmness. "I surrender, Mr. Dockett."
"Now that's what I call right and proper and gentlemanly," said Mr. Dockett, admiringly. "But, bless my heart and soul! who'd ever have thought that I should have dropped upon you here and at this time, and like this?"
"Did you not know it was us?" said Mr. Thaxton, sadly. "Were you not following us?"
"No," said Mr. Dockett, with a quiet chuckle. "I was on quite a different job. Not that I thought you would never turn up. I wasn't taken in by that story of your falling over the cliff. It wasn't likely a gentleman with such muscle as you, would allow yourself to be pulled over by a half-drunken, wounded man. No, I knew you'd turn up again some day, and I was waiting my time. And here you are!"
"Yes," said Leicester, "and you have earned your hundred pounds. So you think I committed the murder?"