"Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. You wish another name? Eh bien. . "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. ‘I’ll send one of my men to see you here this very evening. One group at the door attracted Jack's attention, inasmuch as it was composed of several of his old acquaintances—Mr.
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