And he unsheathed his sword. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him.
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