The man pulled up. The young man looked at her. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. "Don't harm him," said Jack, carelessly: "he dares not do it. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. Who she is I have not discovered, but she is masquerading as Melusine, and for all I know, is not even married to the man who calls himself Valade. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended. Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live.
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