“Alfred Dawnay, I am a police-officer and I hold a warrant for your arrest!”
I roused myself slowly and, facing the man who had addressed me, remarked in a cool voice—
“I think you’ve made a slight mistake—eh? My name is not Dawnay.”
The man in the straw hat uttered an ejaculation of surprise and stood staring at me dumbfounded, while a man at his side, evidently one of the Taunton police in plain clothes, looked at us both in wonder.
“If you are not Dawnay, then where is Dawnay?” demanded the detective quickly.
“How do I know?”
“But you are wearing his clothes! You assisted him to escape, therefore you will have to make some explanation.”
“I have no explanation to offer,” I said. “If you want Dawnay you’d better go and look for him. You have no warrant to arrest me merely because I happen to be wearing clothes resembling Dawnay’s.”
“Perhaps not, my dear sir,” replied the detective, greatly annoyed at being thus outwitted. “But I tell you it will be better for you to be quite frank and outspoken with us. When did Dawnay leave this train—tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, which was really the truth. And the chagrin of the two police-officers was now fully apparent.