"Mother!" cried Jack, springing towards her. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. She caught the fact that it was something more than strong drink that laid you out. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. Still, it was true about men. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally.
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