Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. There was absolute quiet. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. He was a stranger. Indeed it was apparent, from the likeness between them, that they were nearly related. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. ’ Joan sniffed. It had gone with the rest.
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