Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. “Let your friends act for you. ’ He glanced about and saw his quarry holding court at one end of the vast mirrored chamber. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. ” “May I be prepared?” Anna asked. “That is as you will,” she said. .
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