" "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard. It was. The Ragged Edge. He lives near the Black Lion. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. Now I’d like the rest of your story.
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