“Alas, I know not,” cried Ada, mournfully. “Tell me, is he whom I denounced in the street taken prisoner?” “No, not that I am aware of,” said a man. “There has been one here who says he ran up the Strand like a madman and escaped.” Ada shuddered as she said,— “Let him go now; his own conscience must be punishment enough. Let him go now.” “What has he done?” said several voices at once. “Murder,” said Ada. “My eyes were shocked with the sight of blood. He is a murderer.” “A murderer?” “Yes—I saw him do the deed.” “What’s his name?” “Jacob Gray.” The people glanced at each other, and then several left the shop, considering Jacob Gray as the more interesting person of the two to make inquiries about. “Where will you go, my dear?” said the owner of the shop. “I have but one friend,” said Ada, “to whom there is any hope of sending. He has called himself my friend, and his voice was sincere. I will believe that he sought me with kindly feelings. His name is Hartleton—he is a magistrate.” “Sir Francis Hartleton?” “Yes—the same.” “If he knows you and is your friend,” said one, “you need look no farther, for he is a good man, and universally esteemed.” “I thank you for those words,” cried Ada. “And—and tell me—do any of you know Albert Seyton?” All shook their heads, and one man remarked,—“That he knew an Albert Brown, which was the nearest he could come to it.” “I will take you to Sir Francis Hartleton’s,” said the man of the shop. Before Ada could reply, the door was opened, and a stranger walked in, saying,— “Where is the girl?” “Here, here?” cried many voices. The stranger stepped forward, and upon seeing Ada, he said,— “My lass, you must come with me before a magistrate, and tell us what you know of this man who has led us such a pretty race up the Strand.” “Is he caught?” cried several. “No,” replied the officer, for such he was; “we nearly had him by the court next to Somerset-house, but he killed the man who laid hold of him.” “Another murder!” exclaimed Ada. “Yes; I never saw such a sight as he left the man.” “Take me to Sir Francis Hartleton,” said Ada. “That I will,” said the officer. Ada sprung to her feet, and then, turning to those in the shop, she said,— “Accept my heartfelt thanks? I am poor in all else.” Then, taking the offered arm of the officer, who, though rough and uncouth, meant to be quite kind and considerate in his way, she left the shop, and the strangely-matched pair proceeded down Whitehall towards Sir Francis Hartleton’s house. “That fellow as you was with my dear,” remarked the officer, “is a reg’lar out-and-outer; down as fifteen hammers, and a touch above nothing.” This speech was about as intelligible to Ada as if it had been spoken in Chinese, and she replied mildly,— “I don’t know what you mean.” “Bless your innocence!” said the officer; “I means as he’s the most downiest cove as we’ve come across lately.” “Indeed,” said Ada, who was quite as wise as before.