It was an impulse. 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. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café.
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