"What effrontery!" cried the parson. "The young gentleman is dead and buried."
"But I am he, I tell you. I have been immured in Melwood Priory, and only escaped this morning."
"If that be so," answered the parson, who evidently did not believe a word of it, "you should appeal to the magistrates."
"Such is my intention. But all my belongings are here. I sent them to my aunt's care seventeen days ago. I beg you to let me have the means of cleanliness, and a change of clothing."
"You must be as much fool as knave, to imagine I shall give my friend's property to the first beggar who chooses to ask for it."
"But I will describe my baggage and its contents," I pleaded.
"Doubtless, doubtless. Perhaps you have an inventory in your pocket," he replied, with contempt for the tricks of beggars in his tone.
His own words seemed to set him thinking, for he drew out a paper from his pocket, and read it, looking up at me two or three times in the course of reading.
"I have here your description, point by point," said he, when he had finished the perusal, "and your name is given as Jim Ulceby, for whose apprehension a reward is offered. The description tallies precisely, so far as I can see. It makes mention of certain marks on the breast, which may or may not be on yours."
"I bear the marks," I said.