“Yes—it merely leaves me in a worse position than before. So far as all the world knows—as all the world believes—Dandy Chater is alive—and must stand his trial for the sins he has committed. I have taken his place—his papers—his keys; I should be bound to confess that I saw his body on the shore. If they did not swear that I murdered him, they might laugh at the story, and refuse to recognise any mass of corruption dug up out of the grave as the real Dandy Chater.”
“Then wot are you a goin’ to do?” asked the Captain, in perplexity.
“There is but one chance for me,” said Philip, thoughtfully. “I have a suspicion that I know who the real murderer of Dandy Chater was; if I can once see him, and force from him any confession, my way is clear. For that purpose I escaped to-night—that purpose and another. And in that I want you to help me.”
“There’s my ’and on it,” said the Captain, quickly. “But I don’t think you’ll want much ’elp, Phil,” he added, with a laugh. “Any man as can go a breakin’ jail like you, ought to be a match for most people. ’Ow did yer manage it, Phil?”
Philip laughed softly to himself. “It was rather a tough business,” he said. “It all had to be done in a few minutes. I was left alone in a waiting-room for a moment, in going from one part of the prison to another. There was a sort of skylight high up—with hardly too much room for a cat to wriggle through. But there were ropes to it, to open and shut it—and you know what I can do when there’s a rope handy, Quist.”
The Captain nodded darkly and rubbed his hands; contemplated his friend with admiration and begged him to proceed.
“I nearly tore my clothes off my back, in getting through; but, once through, there was only a roof to slide down—a yard to cross—and a wall. Luckily I found a builder’s pole lying against it and scrambled up that; dropped over, and found that dear girl in the street. She brought me here.”
The more they discussed the matter, the more evident it became that Philip must be got away before daylight. For a long time, the Captain ruminated over the matter, wondering what to do. He suggested, from time to time, the most absurd and impracticable disguises—even offering to lend his precious top-boots for the occasion. But at last a really brilliant idea suggested itself to him.
“The circus!” he exclaimed, slapping his leg with much vehemence. “That’s the very thing! I’m a goin’ out to see them move the show, quite early to-morrow morning’—just to see ’ow it’s done. They’ve got to start precious early, so as to reach the town they’re a goin’ to in time for the performance at night. Now—wishin’ to identify myself with the business as early as possible—I’ve asked ’em to send in one of the caravans to fetch me—so as to make a sort of percession of it. As the show’s mine, of course they don’t mind a gratifyin’ a little weakness like that. Now—if you can’t ’ide in a caravan—w’ere can you ’ide, Phil?”
“It sounds like the very thing,” replied Philip. “You can drop me quietly on the road, when we are clear of the town, and nothing need be known of me. But what of this girl, who has been so brave and loyal to me? I can’t leave her behind.”