I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything. Very fascinating, though, trying to analyse the impulse. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost.
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