“Odd's life!” cried Gay, in astonishment; “is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. This is a mere boy. Are you sure you haven't mistaken the ward, Mr. Pitt?” “There is no mistake, Sir,” rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, “I am Jack Sheppard.” “Well, I never was more surprised in my life,” said the poet,--“never!” “He's just the man _I_ expected to see,” observed Hogarth, who, having arranged everything to Thornhill's satisfaction, had turned to look at the prisoner, and was now with his chin upon his wrist, and his elbow supported by the other hand, bending his keen gray eyes upon him, “just the man! Look at that light, lithe figure,--all muscle and activity, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon it. In my search after strange characters, Mr. Gay, I've been in many odd quarters of our city--have visited haunts frequented only by thieves--the Old Mint, the New Mint, the worst part of St. Giles's, and other places--but I've nowhere seen any one who came up so completely to my notion of a first-rate housebreaker as the individual before us. Wherever I saw him, I should pick him out as a man designed by nature to plan and accomplish the wonderful escapes he has effected.” As he spoke, a smile crossed Sheppard's countenance. “He understands me, you perceive,” said Hogarth. “Well, I won't dispute your judgment in such matters, Mr. Hogarth,” replied Gay. “But I appeal to you, Sir James, whether it isn't extraordinary that so very slight a person should be such a desperate robber as he is represented--so young, too, for such an _old_ offender. Why, he can scarcely be twenty.” “I am one-and-twenty,” observed Jack. “One-and-twenty, ah!” repeated Gay. “Well, I'm not far from the mark.” “He is certainly extremely youthful-looking and very slightly made,” said Thornhill, who had been attentively studying Sheppard's countenance. “But I agree with Hogarth, that he is precisely the person to do what he has done. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. Can I be accommodated with a seat, Mr. Pitt?” “Certainly, Sir James, certainly,” replied the governor. “Get a chair, Austin.” While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack warmly grasped. “Well, Jack,” said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cut-and-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; “how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Wouldn't take my advice. Told you how it would be. One mistress enough to ruin a man,--two, the devil. Laughed at me, then. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now.” “You're not come here to insult me, Mr. Figg?” said Jack, peevishly.