Joey went with him outside the door, when the peace-officer, looking at him full in the face, said, “Your name is Joseph Rushbrook; you said so in the witness-box?”
“Yes,” replied Joey, “that is my true name.”
“Why did you change it?” demanded the officer.
“I had reasons,” replied our hero.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you the reasons,” rejoined the other. “You were concerned in a murder some years ago; a reward was offered for your apprehension, and you absconded from justice. I see that you are the person; your face tells me so. You are my prisoner. Now, come away quietly, sir; it is of no use for you to resist, and you will only be worse treated.”
Joey’s heart had almost ceased to beat when the constable addressed him; he felt that denial was useless, and that the time was now come when either he or his father must suffer; he, therefore, made no reply, but quietly followed the peace officer, who, holding him by the arm, called a coach, into which he ordered Joey to enter, and following him, directed the coachman to drive to the police-office.
As soon as the magistrate had been acquainted by the officer who the party was whom he had taken into custody, he first pointed out to our hero that he had better not say any thing which might criminate himself, and then asked him if his name was Joseph Rushbrook.
Joey replied that it was.
“Have you anything to say that might prevent my committing you on the charge of murder?” demanded the magistrate.
“Nothing, except that I am not guilty,” replied Joey.