Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. The Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff. "You've given him a broken head, I perceive.
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