Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. "Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. Only a book detective could dope this out. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad.
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