I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of no avail—I couldn't obtain a hearing. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be rumpling it. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. But it sounds too real to be imagined. Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances.
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