The streets were full of colour. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “A lady, Dunster. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument.
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