The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 140: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

124 THE COURT OF LONDON know it was me that dug the grave at the Blackheath villa. Well, I was treated like a genelman by your ladyship’s husband; he paid me handsome, and now I want to serve him. That’s the object of my business.” ‘But who are you?” demanded Ernestina, who had shuddered visibly when the wretch alluded to the digging of the grave. “Ah! I recollect,’ exclaimed the man. ‘ Mr. Dysart told me when I was at Beechey Manor that you only knew me by the name of Jones. Nevertheless, my name is no more Jones than your ladyship’s is; and as there’s no use for any disguise or concealment that I can see, I may as well explain to you at once that my proper name is Dan’el Coffin —”’ “What! the public executioner!” cried the miserable lady, springing to her feet and gazing upon the man with horror depicted upon her countenance. Then, as the account of the burglary at Mrs. Owen’s, which she had read in the newspapers, flashed to her mind, she instantaneously under- stood the circumstances in which Daniel Coffin had sought refuge at Beechey Manor with the pseudonym of Jones. ‘Don’t alarm yourself, ma’am,” said Coffin, with im- perturbable coolness; ‘‘I ain’t come to hang you. But pray sit down again; you see I make myself at home, because I want to speak to you.on very particular business, and the more you won’t hear me, the longer you'll keep me.’’ Struck by the truth of this remark, and anxious to get rid of her dreadful visitor as soon as possible, Ernestina reseated herself, and again made a hurried motion for him to continue. “Well, my lady,’”’ resumed Coffin, ‘‘ as I was observing just now, Mr. Dysart has got into a precious hobble, and as the recorder will make his report at the beginning of next week, it will be all dickey with your husband ten days hence if so be nothing’s done in the meantime. Now as I’ve watched Old Bailey cases for some years past, and am pretty familiar with ’em, I can tell your ladyship that there’s no hope of a reprieve, much less of pardon, seeing the jury didn’t recommend him to mercy. It’s clear, then, — and there’s no use in deceiving oneself, — that he’ll be scragged on Monday week; and so, as I’ve a great respect for him, I CONNIE YOO KS (E(0) mM