" "Now for it!—life or death!" exclaimed Jack, assuming the gait of a female, and stepping towards the door. She knew now that he never would. I will pray for you. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away. “I’m covered. 13 Montague Street. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now.
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