She reached for the door handle. On receiving the warning note from the ostler, Jack Sheppard and his companion left Willesden, and taking—as a blind—the direction of Harrow, returned at nightfall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and put up at a little public-house called the Spotted Dog. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. She looked away. “Very likely,” he answered. But, you see, I’m smirched. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. Your pets are gone. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society.
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