Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. ‘She wants you. ‘Mary was indeed naïve, but there I should say the similarity ends. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. ‘I am entirely English. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. You, sir,” he added, turning to Brendon, “had better take my card round to the police station in Werner Street and ask that Detective Dorling be sent round here at once on urgent business. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him.
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