” “Not yet. ‘Pitiful. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. He listened. "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. " Jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right arm was grasped by the Jew who had silently approached him. .
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