He had not had time to aim the pistol. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. " "Where are the assassins?" cried Sheppard. Jack was not half your age when he died. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. "I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. . The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. " CHAPTER XXV.
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