"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. “Drive towards St. ’ ‘No. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. Sheppard, struggling to get free. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. "The marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. ‘But you said she was looking for proof.
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