A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. Mrs. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Predictably, Charvill turned on him. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. The impassivity of her features changed at last.
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