"Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. It wasn't worth while to invest imaginatively a man with evil projects simply because he was physically ugly. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign.
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