"Where are you going?" asked the colonel. "If you're a fool you'll tell me."
Crewe shrugged his shoulders.
"To gaol, I guess," he said bitterly, and the colonel chuckled.
"Maybe you've answered the question you put to me," he said, "but I'm going to make a fight of it. Dan Boundary is too old in the bones and hates exercise too much to survive the keen air and the bracing employment of Dartmoor—if we ever got there," he said ominously.
"What do you mean?" demanded Crewe.
"I mean that, when they've photographed Selby and circulated his picture, somebody is certain to recognise him as the man who handed the glass of water over the heads of the crowd when Hanson was killed——"
"Was it Selby?" gasped Crewe. "I wasn't in it. I knew nothing about it——"
The colonel laughed again.
"Of course you're not in anything," he bantered. "Yes, it was Selby, and it is ten chances to one that the usher would recognise him again if he saw him. That would mean—well, they don't hang folks at Dartmoor." He looked at his watch again. "I expect Pinto will be about an hour and a half," he said. "You will excuse me," he added with elaborate politeness "I have a lot of work to do."