’ A sudden clatter of booted feet sounded in the hall beyond. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. G. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. CHAPTER XII.
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