was gone.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

A USE FOR OLD FILMS

They brought Pinto Silva into the magistrate's court at Bow Street the
following morning in a condition of collapse. The man was dazed by his
misfortune, incapable of answering the questions which were put to him,
or even of instructing the exasperated solicitor who had been with him
for an hour.

By the solicitor's side was a grey-faced, shrunken man, whose clothes
did not seem to fit him and who at the end of the proceedings whispered
something into the lawyer's ear. But the application which was made for
bail was rejected. The evidence was too damning, and the knowledge that
the prisoner was not English and that it would be impossible to
extradite him if he managed to make his escape to certain countries, all
helped to influence the magistrate in his refusal.

Colonel Boundary did not speak to the man in the dock or as much as look
at him. He got out of court after the proceedings had terminated, the
cynosure of every policeman's eye, and drove back to his apartments. He
had not heard from Crewe or Lollie that morning and he guessed that the
two had left by aeroplane. So he was alone, he thought, and the very
knowledge had the effect of stiffening him.

He could go through the remainder of his papers at his leisure, without
fear of interruption. The lesser members of the gang had been controlled
by Selby or Crewe, and they would not approach him directly, but he did
not doubt that there were a score of little men waiting to jump into the
witness box the moment he was caught, but he had by no means given up
hope of escaping.

For days he had carried in his pocket the means of disguise, a safety
razor, scissors and a small bottle of anatto solution to darken his
face.

Despite his sixty-one years, he was a healthy and virile man, capable of
undergoing hardships if the necessity arose, but, above all, he had a
plan and an alternative plan.

He finished the destruction of his correspondence, and then began to
search his pocket for any stray letters which he might have put away
absent-mindedly. In making this search he came upon a long, white
envelope addressed to Crewe, and wondered how it had come into his
possession. Then he remembered that Crewe had handed him a letter.

He looked at the postmark.

From Oxford.

This was the report of the agents whom Crewe had sent down to discover
the names of the men who had left Balliol in a certain year. "Sn