"Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. She returned to these latter, and at the back of her mind, as she looked them over again, was a very distinct resolve to quote them after the manner of Miss Garvice at the very first opportunity. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene.
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