‘Tie a horse behind the carriage?’ he echoed incredulously. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. ” Mr. ” “Go!” he said. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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