"Charley, the lather."
"Yes, sir. Here it is."
"Here, my little man," said the gentleman in want of a wig. "If you can tie a bow, just make one in front of my cravat.—A small one."
The gentleman slipped a small piece of paper into Johanna's jacket pocket.
CHAPTER LXXII.
ANOTHER VICTIM.
Johanna started.
"St. Dunstan's," said the stranger.
"What?" said Todd.
"St. Dunstan's last Sunday, I don't think was so highly-scented with the flavour of the grave as usual."
"Oh," said Todd.