“Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. You know you do, Annabel. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. Sheppard—becomes entitled to the estates; which eventually—provided he escaped the gallows—would descend to her son. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. “Mr. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill.
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