"And where do they say I am?"

"Oh, the police have got a clue--as usual," replied the fisherman.

The escaped convict laughed bitterly, but the laugh broke off into a
sickening cackle.

"I've been in those brickworks," he said, "all the time, meditating
murder. I stole a loaf from a baker's cart; but man cannot live by
bread alone; ah! Ha! ha!"

The fisherman held out his flask, which the other took, and opened
the somewhat uncommon silver top with ease bred of knowledge.

He poured himself out a full glass and drank it off.

"I haven't had that taste in my mouth for four years," he said,
returning the flask. "And you are guilty of felony!"

The fisherman probably knew this, for he merely laughed.

"Do you know Prince Town?" the convict asked abruptly.

The other nodded, glancing in the direction of the rising moor.

"And you've read the rules on the gate? Parcere subjectis, cut in
the stone over the top. Good God!"

The fisherman nodded again.