The noose was at its throat when I called for help. Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. It will be necessary to secure his companion; and as you say he is not in the house, some caution must be used in approaching him, or he may chance to take to his heels, for he's a slippery little rascal. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard. Fas du tout.
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