Summary

James M'Govan Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective

No, no, Morley; I don’t say you took them, or that you didn’t, but they’re to be found, and I’ll leave that to the men that are bred to the trade—the police or the detectives.”
“Yes, they’re the best hands at that,” said Morley feebly.
No strong and indignant protestations of innocence; no hot words, or tears, or reproaches; nothing but that meaningless answer, and that look of guilt and fear.
“The man’s a thief if looks are to be trusted,” thought the builder. “If it turns out so, I’ll never be kind to mortal being again.”
Source: Gutenberg

James M'Govan Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective

There was in the slates immediately above them a single pane of glass, which gave light to the closet, and that pane now showed a deep red square of the crimson sky. Kate’s eyes wandered to the pane, and became fixed for some moments.
“What’s—that?” she whispered at last, with a strange trembling eagerness.
“It’s only the winder,” answered Billy, a little scared.
“No, it isn’t; it’s the hole you go through into the other world,” said Kate joyfully. “Billy, dear, I can’t stay any longer. I’m going through!”
Source: Gutenberg

James M'Govan Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective

Now Jerry was an ignorant man, who did not know one letter from another, but there was one lesson he had learned—that a life of crime is the worst paying trade in the world. Halting by roadside hamlets, resting under shady hedges, or wandering along green lanes, Jerry laid down his ideas to Dickie in a homely fashion, which would have thrown a teacher of grammar into hysterics, but which nevertheless carried conviction to the heart of the boy. Not that Dickie had ever meant to wrong Jerry, but he had only taken to this life as a make-shift till his mother should be released from prison.
Source: Gutenberg

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