Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Advancing towards the Master, and claiming an audience, which was instantly granted, Jonathan, without much circumlocution, related the sum of the strange story he had just learnt from Wood, omitting nothing except a few trifling particulars, which he thought it politic to keep back; and, with this view, he said not a word of there being any probability of capturing the fugitive, but, on the contrary, roundly asserted that his informant had witnessed that person's escape. The arrival of la tante Prudence late next day had changed all this, it is true. She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly.
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