"No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. Saren and Kevin lavished compliments upon her performance that made her blush as Martin looked at her adoringly, nodding in agreement. "Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. He turned, expecting to see his wife. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. “It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them.
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