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" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. "I disown you. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. In the one he approached was gathered together a vast assortment of weapons, each of which, as appeared from the ticket attached to it, had been used as an instrument of destruction. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said.

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