"It's more than I am," muttered Thames. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. You are a detective?" "Yes. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all.
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