James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Go and prepare for our departure. The advanced guard had endeavoured to disperse the mob in Field Lane, but were not prepared to meet with the resistance they encountered. "When did you see him, my love?" "A short time ago," replied the housekeeper, unsuspiciously. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else.
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