Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. Fixing a ferocious and exulting look upon Jack Sheppard, he exclaimed. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. There's a hundred pounds too much.
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