I caught a glimpse of his face, and felt my knees tremble under me--it was Screw himself! Screw, pale and haggard-looking, evidently not yet recovered from the effect of my grip on his throat! Screw, in attendance on the runner, traveling inside the coach in the character of an invalid.

He must be going this journey to help the Bow Street officers to identify some one of our scattered gang of whom they were in pursuit.

It could not be the doctor--the runner could discover him without assistance from anybody.
Why might it not be me?
I began to think whether it would be best to trust boldly in my disguise, and my lucky position outside the coach, or whether I should abandon my fellow-passengers immediately.

It was not easy to settle at once which course was the safest--so I tried the effect of looking at my two alternatives from another point of view.

Should I risk everything, and go on resolutely to Crickgelly, on the chance of discovering that Alicia and Miss Giles were one and the same person--or should I give up on the spot the only prospect of finding my lost mistress, and direct my attention entirely to the business of looking after my own safety?
As the latter alternative practically resolved itself into the simple question of whether I should act like a man who was in love, or like a man who was not, my natural instincts settled the difficulty in no time.
I boldly imitated the example of my fellow-passengers, and went in to dinner, determined to go on afterward to Crickgelly, though all Bow Street should be following at my heels..