No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. They struck her as cold and indifferent. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. It felt too good. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses.
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