"My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear. But no more of that. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. But she did not in the least want to do that. "He comes!" cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that Sheppard had left the prison. No— no, it must never be.
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