"I cashed two notes," said Butsey coolly, "but the third trapped me. But I don't care. I've had a good time!"
"And I expect you'll pass the rest of your life in gaol."
"What's that?" said Butsey, not turning a hair; "in gaol?--not me. I've been in quod once and didn't like it. I ain't a-goin' again. No, sir, you give me some cash, Mr. Hill, and I'll go to the States."
"They'll lynch you there, as sure as a gun," said Horace, grinning.
Allen was quite taken aback by the coolness of the prisoner, for a prisoner Butsey virtually was. Mask leaned back nursing his foot, and did not take much part in the conversation. He listened to Allen examining the culprit, and only put a word in now and then.
"You don't seem to realise your position," said Hill sharply.
"Oh yuss, I does," said Butsey, calmly blowing a cloud of smoke, "you wants to get the truth out of me. Well, I'll tell it, if you'll let me go. I dessay our friend here"--he nodded to Mask--"can arrange with the peelers about that note."
"It's probable I can," said Mask, tickled at the impudence of the boy; "but wouldn't you rather suffer for stealing, than for murder?"
The boy jumped up and became earnest at once. "See here," he said, wetting his finger, "that's wet," and then he wiped it on his jacket, "that's dry, cut my throat if I tell a lie. I didn't shoot the old bloke. S'elp me, I didn't!"
"Who did, then? Do you know?"