“I told you I was on business, Master Anson. Now, if you please, where are you going?”
“Where am I going?” said Anson warmly. “Why, down south. What’s the good of my staying in Kimberley?”
“I can’t answer that question, sir. Where’s your pass?”
“Pass? What pass?”
“Your permit from the magistrate to leave the town.”
“Permit? Nonsense!” cried Anson. “I’m turned out of the mine offices, and I’m not going to sit and starve. No one will give me work without a character. You know that.”
The superintendent nodded.
“Perhaps not,” he said; “but you are still a suspect, and you have no right to leave the town.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” said Anson defiantly, “and I’m going on my lawful way. What have you to say to that?”
“In plain English, that I believe you are going off to escape arrest and to carry off your plunder.”