One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. Keep up the clamour for five minutes, and I'll finish it. The next moment, he was felled to the ground by Jonathan Wild, who sprang into the room, followed by Abraham bearing the link. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. Pull yourself together now.
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