He seemed to have expected them. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual. At this place of refuge, situated in the heart of Wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator Restaurant. ” “Okay.
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