"A prizefighter!" said Gwen. "How interesting! We _must_ pay a visit to the Wardle family. Is it a very awful place they live in?" This question was asked in the hope of an affirmative answer, Gwen having been promised exciting and terrible experiences of London slums. "Sapps Court?" said Miss Grahame, speaking from experience. "Oh no!--quite a respectable place. Not like places I could show you out of Drury Lane. I'll show you the place where Jo was, in this last Dickens." Which would fix the date of this story, if nothing else did. Granny Marrowbone looked awestruck at this lady's impressive knowledge of the wicked metropolis, and was, moreover, uneasy about Dave's surroundings. She had had several other letters from Dave; the latter ones to some extent in his own caligraphy, which often rendered them obscure. But the breadth of style which distinguished his early dictated correspondence was always in evidence, and such passages as lent themselves to interpretation sometimes contained suggestions of influences at work which made her uneasy about his future. These were often reinforced by hieroglyphs, and one of these in particular appeared to refer to persons or associations she shrank from picturing to herself as making part of the child's life. She handed the letter which contained it to Sister Nora, and watched her face anxiously as she examined it. Sister Nora interpreted it promptly. "A culprit running away from the Police, evidently. His legs are stiff, but the action is brisk. I should say he would get away. The police seem to threaten, but not to be acting promptly. What do you think, Gwen?" "Unquestionably!" said Gwen. "The Police are very impressive with their batons. But what on earth is this thing underneath the malefactor?" Sister Nora went behind her chair, and they puzzled over it, together. It was inscrutable. At last Sister Nora said slowly, as though still labouring with perplexity:--"Is it possible?--but no, it's impossible--possible he means that?..." "Possible he means what?" "My idea was--but I think it's quite out of the question---- Well!--you know there is a prison called 'The Jug,' in that sort of class?" "I didn't know it. It looks very like a jug, though--the thing does.... Yes--he's a prisoner that's got out of prison. He must have had the Jug all to himself, though, it's so small!" "I do believe that's what it is, upon my word. There was an escape from Coldbath Fields--which is called the Stone Jug--some time back, that was in the papers. It made a talk. That's it, I do believe!" Sister Nora was pleased at the solution of the riddle; it was a feather in Dave's cap.