‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. Suddenly he understood what had happened. Mr. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. ‘I hope I do not understand you. "These people are all in league with him," cried the latter. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. Damn! I’ve splashed. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted 385 XVII.
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