There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. However, that’s over and done with. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son.
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