Her companion was a person of no inferior condition. This was an imitation of the noises made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at feeding-time; the idea was taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the whole place was alive with barkings, yappings, roarings, pelican chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with shrieks of hysterical laughter. He was—a millionaire. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. The actual danger was lost sight of in these wild apprehensions; and many timorous beings were scared beyond reason's verge by the excess of their fears. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. Jack Kimble. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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