" "Ay, here I am," said Jack, throwing off his hat and wig, and marching towards the group, amongst whom there was a general movement of surprise at his audacity. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ’ Then she whisked from the room, hearing Lucilla utter a delighted squeal as she closed the door behind her. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. F.
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