I don’t see how they can be. CHAPTER XXVI. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. He had fallen off when trying to tie down his aluminum paint ladder. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. Hill lost a little of his truculency.
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