He had but to give his orders. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French.
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