"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. ’ ‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. . " "By those who've conspired with me?" "No! by those who've entrapped you! You've long eluded our vigilance; but we've caught you at last!" "Damnation!" exclaimed the woollen-draper; "that I should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!" "It's no use lamenting now, Captain! You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest.
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