" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. He was a philosopher. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal.
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