“A very famous hero. I should have thought you’d make more money wrestling in London than ever you would doing cop’s work to Plymouth.”
The giant was interested at this intelligent remark.
“I’ve often been tempted to try; but I’m not a man that moves very quick in my mind; though I can shift my sixteen stone of carcase quick enough when it comes to wrestling or fighting. Once my hand gets over a limb, it sticks—like a bull-dog’s teeth. ’Tis the greatest grip known in the West Country—to say it without boasting.”
Daniel nodded and relapsed into silence. He was thinking hard now. All his ideas centred on the wild hope to escape. Scheme after scheme sped through his brains. Once a shadowy enterprise actually developed, but he dismissed it as vain.
Then Luke Bartley spoke to Mr Corder and suggested another line of action.
“This here was the man who had that cute thought that the burglars to Westcombe got away on a motor-car—didn’t he, Gregory?”
The inspector admitted it.
“Yes; I gave you all credit for that, Sweetland. ’Twas a clever opinion, and the right one. I’m sure of that. Hue an’ cry was so quick that they never could have got clear off with any slower vehicle.”
Daniel made no answer; but he jumped at the topic of the recent burglary and turned it swiftly in his mind. Here, perhaps, was the chance he wanted. For half an hour he kept silence; then he spoke to Bartley.