"Oh, you need not look after him," replied the farmer. "I have just met him. Jim's all right. It was not he who did the mischief. He has been after all the fire-engines on foot, and is just come back, dead-beat. He was going on to the Hold to help put out the fire, but I told him it was out, and he could go home. There's not the least necessity to look after Jim."
Mr. Dumps—whose clearness of vision was certainly not sufficient to set the Thames on fire—received the news without any doubt. "I thought it an odd thing for Jim Sanders to do. He haven't daring enough," he remarked. "That kitchenmaid was right, I'll be bound, as to its being Mr. Rupert in his passion. Gone in home, did you say, sir?"
"In bed by this time, I should say," replied the farmer. "They have got Mr. Rupert, Dumps."
"Have they?" returned Dumps. "It's a nasty charge, sir. I shouldn't be sorry that he got off it."
The farmer continued his road towards Barbrook; the policeman went the other way. As he came to the cottage inhabited by the Sanders family, it occurred to him that he might as well ascertain the fact of Jim's safety, and he went to the door and knocked. Mrs. Sanders opened it instantly, believing it to be the wanderer. When she saw policeman Dumps standing there, she thought she should have died with fright.
"Your son has just come in all right, I hear, Madge Sanders. Farmer Apperley have told me."
"Yes, sir," replied she, dropping a curtsey. The untruthful reply was spoken in her terror, almost unconsciously; but there may have been some latent thought in her heart to mislead the policeman.
"Is he gone to bed? I don't want to disturb him if he is."
"Yes, sir," replied she again.
"Well, they have got Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, so the examination will take place to-morrow morning. Your son had better go right over to Barmester the first thing after breakfast; tell him to make for the police-station, and stop there till he sees me. He'll have to give evidence, you know."