It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. "He left Dollis Hill at ten o'clock on that night, and has not since returned. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. "It can't be Captain Sheppard!" "It is," replied Jack; "and you had better have met the devil on your road than me. "Nothing more than to obtain a favourable answer to my suit," replied Kneebone.
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