Mr. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. The chamber rang with her shrieks. “The next question, Miss Anna,” he said, “is how am I to help you? I am wholly at your disposal. I have never loved you. Jonathan Wild. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes.
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