They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. “We are not going the right way,” she exclaimed. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. .
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