Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. He did not particularly care. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me.
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