How indeed could Polly imagine that her romance had ended in a tragedy, that the man lying so still, his white face upturned to the moonlit sky, was her lover, Lancelot Vane--that the man who had done him to death was Jeremy Rofflash--that the woman in hot chase of his murderer was Sally Salisbury?
Rofflash had made for the network of courts and allies of Clare Market hoping to double upon his pursuers and gain the Strand, and then hurry to the Alsatia of Whitefriars.

But some of those following knew the intricacies of Clare Market better than Rofflash, and he twisted and turned like a hunted hare, his difficulties momentarily increasing, for as the excited mob fought their way through the narrow lanes their numbers swelled.

True, Jeremy Rofflash made his way to the Strand without being captured, but he failed to reach Whitefriars.

The Strand and Fleet Street gave his pursuers a better chance.

But because of his pistol none dared touch him.
Despite his limp he could run.