"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap. "Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand.
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