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"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Mrs. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. You are a detective?" "Yes. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. He remained talking with her however. He turned, expecting to see his wife. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence.
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