“You cowards!” said Ann Veronica, “put her down!” and tore herself from a detaining hand and battered with her fists upon the big red ear and blue shoulder of the policeman who held the little old lady. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. Ruth out of the picture, he wouldn't have concerned himself so eagerly in regard to Spurlock's departure. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. The father, granite; the daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the one and heard the other, his amazement indescribable. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble.
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