The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. You cannot arrest yourself. Nobody could possibly find him now. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. Everyone has gone away again, so that I can do so all alone.
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