“My wife. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. People running, screaming, hiding. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. His literary instincts were reviving. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel.
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