\" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. “I want to make love for the first time tonight. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. You should go home today and get some rest. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. " "Come along," thundered Jonathan.
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