The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard. She saw his face change, how he regretted. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. About two weeks ago. Folks don’t like ’em.
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