Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “I am staying at the Savoy. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause.
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