His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. I think that I am a little disappointed in you. I don’t suppose you could tell me even the derivation of suffrage if I asked you.
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