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Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. On receiving the warning note from the ostler, Jack Sheppard and his companion left Willesden, and taking—as a blind—the direction of Harrow, returned at nightfall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and put up at a little public-house called the Spotted Dog. He jumped out of the car.
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