ToC After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and illfated mother. “I shan’t eat him. Your purposes are defeated. "It won't do to betray the officer," he muttered. So he resolved to try another tack. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Then before she could say a word to arrest him he was at her side. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you.
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