\" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. .
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