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Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Where can I get one?" asked O'Higgins. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet. “You’ll have to take her!” shouted an inspector on horseback, and she echoed his cry: “You’ll have to take me!” They seized upon her and lifted her, and she screamed. O'Higgins, the American detective, and were waiting against the hour when they could assist the young man in a sudden dash for liberty.
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