Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. I worshipped her and subdued myself. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out.
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