“Mr. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. “I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. For on reaching the second floor, a swishing sound came to Gerald’s ears, as of someone moving about. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes.
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