It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. According to Wu, the young man had not opened his eyes once during the afternoon. But it was very hard to follow. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane.
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