’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. He walked unsteadily towards the door. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. She held out the foil. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey.
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