" "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. ‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. All the same, I don’t admit it. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. But when she learns that you are a fugitive from justice…. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity.
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