“You cannot! Oh, you cannot. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate.
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