" "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard. "That's usual. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. Well, I don’t think that’s fair.
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