I meant to give him a drubbing. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. I have just come from him. Leonardo was to me nothing at all.
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