‘C’est ridicule. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. “I will not have this slavery. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. Gerald reached out a hand to stop her.
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