As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. ‘Something in that, missie. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. . I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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