Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. Wood's house was broken into and plundered. He speaks English. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. You heard her. ‘I do not believe you.
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