“You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. “I suppose I should let go if I had. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. Let me take the satchel, sir. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end.
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