James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. “I find it very hard to write this letter. ‘He just came. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. Now do you see his motive?" "I see nothing but your danger," replied his mother, tenderly. "Quite captivated, Ma'am," added Mr. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. But after that it was easy.
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