"This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. "Where is he?" he cried. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Edgeworth Bess, who passed for Sheppard's wife, was secured. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. Securing the chain in the best way he could, Jack then hurried down two pair of stairs, and had nearly reached the lobby, when a door suddenly opened, and two persons appeared, one of whom held a light. Making up a similar story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted to purchase a hammer and a file. There was no rush. “Come,” she said.
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