This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. Section 2. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. But, you see, I’m smirched. Sheppard.
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