A maidservant held the front door open. " "Could I credit your wild story, I might do so," returned Thames, with a look of perplexity. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir.
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