I am your servitor. . This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. Dismissing the post-chaise at the Old Bailey, he walked to Newgate to ascertain what had occurred since the escape.
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