Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. I don’t know. Consternation gripped him. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole.
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