“Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. You can if you will. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. You are not a tourist seeking adventure. "It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it.
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