In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. “What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. She would just have to show up and hope for the best.