’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Let's get one idea into our heads. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. A trial always brings those involved into public notice, and I dare say he feels there will be scandal enough without adding to it. I left him in charge of Quilt Arnold and Rykhart Van Galgebrok—the skipper I spoke of— with strict orders to shoot him if he made any further attempt at escape; and they're not lads—the latter especially—to be trifled with.
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