"Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. He could not tell whether she was English or American. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. ’ ‘So that you may interest yourself in my affairs even more?’ ‘Then I will go with you,’ he offered. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. ’ ‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack. I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Ms. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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