” “That’s the comfort of you. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. ‘Can’t see a thing. Everything was going to hell. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. " "Very well, Sir," replied Austin, rising and walking towards them. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. “I do not wish to use this.
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