"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. “It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. ” Ennison escaped. So he shut his eyes. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day.
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