Mr. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. Mr. ‘Difficult, I grant you. So I packed up and came to London next day. Some foul murder has been committed. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. I guess. “It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. “I was able to borrow the money. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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