Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. ” Lucy instructed. " "Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg. "I allude to an individual, who has since acquired an infamous notoriety as a thief-taker; but who, in those days, was himself the associate of thieves. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. He looked distant, irritated. ” “But if we were?” said Ann Veronica.
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