"Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. "Another moment, and it'll be too late. He let go of the girl’s arm. Jack attacked Jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. For all that, it is folly. I shall be delighted to rescue you. Prison was beastly.
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