Sadly, but officially, the constable crawled over and sat
upon the prostrate form of the would-be fugitive from justice. The
prisoner squirmed, and even struck the doubled-up corporal, but the
entrance of Ben Toner put an end to that nonsense, so that, handcuffed
and chained once more, the desperate villain was hauled into the
presence of the magistrates. In dignified, but subordinate, language,
Mr. Rigby related the prisoner's escapade, and, by implication, more
than by actual statement, gave the J.P.s to understand that they knew
nothing about the management of offenders against the law. They were,
therefore, compelled to allow the handcuffs to remain, but summoned
sufficient courage to insist on the removal of the stable chains.
"What is your name, prisoner?" asked Squire Carruthers.
"Samuel Wilson," answered the man.
"Oh! kem now," interposed Mr. Bangs, "thet's a lie, you know; yore name
is Merk Devis, end yore a brether of Metthew Devis of the Peskiwenchow
tevern, end you were Rawdon's right hend men. We know you, my led, so
down't you try any alias games on us."
"Ef you know my name so mighty well, what do you want askin' for't?"
"To see if you can speak the truth," replied Carruthers.
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