He inspected the formidable array of rifles and at length walked over to the register. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. ‘Well, if the fellow Gosse is still at large, there’s no saying what he will be at next, is there? I see nothing for it but for you to see General Lord Charvill at once. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. Stanley, consenting with dignity. We WERE thieves. 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. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination.
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