The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 323: what you’re looking at

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

re et ——— rr OO as s—_.0_—0—— ee ee wre nO THE MYSTERIES OF THE CUURT. SO ee ST eee eS eS et 309 I a ess re FS ae ae aaa aa he had just previously been terrified, the Baronet felt assured of obtaining an asylum for the rest of the night; and on knocking at the door it was al- most immediately opened by a stout red-faced man, with a rubicund nose and a drunken leer, both alike indicating a love of strong liquor. There could consequently be no mistake that this was the landlord; and Sir Douglas at once re- quested accommodation for the night. “ Well, I don’t exactly know how that can be,” answered the Boniface, keeping the door only half open, with his own burly form filling up the interval — while the light from within streamed with a sort of Rembrandt effect upon the Baronet, whose personal appearance was thus plainly visible to the landlord. “How do you mean you do not know whether you can accommodate me?” cried Sir Douglas, “Ts not this a house of public entertainment ?” “To be sure it Is, so, you see, I have got as much company as I can well accommodate.” «“ But is there another inn or tavern near ?” asked the Baronet, in a tone of deep vexation. “ No—that there isn’t,’ returned the landlord, still keeping fast in the doorway. “But where do you come from?—and how is it you are out so late? You seem a stylish kind of gentleman, not- withstanding.” “The truth is,” answered Sir Douglas, “Iama man of rack and fortune. My carriage has been stopped by a set of ruffians on Shooter’s Hill; and I was dragged away to a hut close by. There I should have been murdered, were it not for secret intimation given me by a young woman, of her companions’ diabolical intentions. Thanks to her, my life is saved. I escaped—and wandering through the darkness, caught a glimpse of the lizht shining from} your window. Now, then, will you refuse me admission?—for depend upon it, the aecommodation which I seek will be liberally recompensed. If you wish to know who I am, my name is Sir Douglas Huntingdon.” We must pause for an instant to acquaint our readers that every syllable of this explanation was averheard by the Hangman, Sally Melmoth, and Jack the Foundling, who had established their quart2ars at the Jolly Waggoner for the night. ‘They had not as yet retired to rest, but had been earousing with the landlord until the moment the Baronet knocked at the front door. As he gave the above account of his adventures, the Hang- man ani his companions at once comprehended that it must have been Bencull’s party who had | waylaid te carriage; and they likewise under- stood that it was to the Mushroom Faker’s_ hut the Baronet had been dragged. But no words can depict their astonishment, when they further gleaned from his explanations that it could have been none other than Nell Gibson who had given him the private information which induced him to escape. The Hangman and Sally Melmoth ac- cordingly exchanged looks of ominous significancy, as they both muttered the name of Nell Gibson: and Jack the Foundling seemed equally amazed and indignant at the evident treachery of that | youpg woman. | ~_—— wee ed ——— = awe ee ~ The Jolly Waggoner is well knowed in these here parts: but there’s been a steeple-chase in the neighbourhood to-day—and neither more nor less than one of the members of Daniel Coffin’s extensive brotherhood of despera- does: and therefore, as the Baronet revealed the details of his adventures, the fellow at ouce un- derstood how he ought to act. But if he expe- rienced any indecision on the point, it speedily vanished as the Hangman’s voice reached his ears, in a gruff whisper from the fireplace where he was seated, — saying, “Let him in by all means.” The landlord coughed aloud in o-der to prevent that whisper reaching the Baronet: and assuming an air of profound civility, he said, “ Pray walk in, sir. Iam sorry that a gentleman of your rank and corsideration should have been so scurvily treated in this here neighbourhood.” Sir Douglas Huntingdon accordingly entered the place; and as there was no passage of any kind, he at once found himself in what may be called the parlour or tap-room of that little ale- house. ‘There were numerous Windsor chairs ranged round the walls—a huge deal table in the middle of the room—several spittoons upon the sanded floor—and a cheerful fire blazing in the grate. On the table were jugs of ale, a tray of pipes, and a paper of tobacco: and seated round the hearth were the Hangman, Sally Melmoth, and Jack the Foundling. Daniel Coffin was the first to make way for the Baronet: and so very polite and civil was he, that Sir Douglas failed to receive any evil impression from his particularly sinister countenance. The landlord, remarking “that it was very cold, and that his guest would no doubt like something warm,” hastened into a little bar-parlour opening from the end of the room, and speedily returned with a reeking tumbler of brandy-and-water. “And so, sir, you was unfortunate enough to get robbed, was you?” said the landlord, as he re- sumed his own seat in the chimney corner. “ Only think,” he continued, addressing himself to the Hangman, “of the gentleman being compelled to fly for his life. But what a good young woman it must have been that gave him such a hint.” “Yes,” observed Daniel Coffin: “I heard the gentleman telling you the story at the door a minute ago; and I thought to myself what a lucky thing it was he got off so nice. But I really tremble for the poor young woman, in case she should be suspected by her companions——” “Ah! you may well say ¢hat,” exclaimed the landlord, taking his cue from the Hangman’s words. The rascals that infest this here neigh- bourhood, are the most murderous cut-throats that ever was; and if they only once suspected the young woman——” “Oh! don’t talk of it!” cried Sally Melmoth, pretending to be fearfully shocked: “the bare idea is enough to make one’s blood run cold.” “ Yes—it would indeed be very shocking,” said the landlord, shaking his head with awful so- lemnity, “if the whole neighbourhood was fright- ened to-morrow morning by hearing that the poor creature was murdered in that terrible lonely hut.” “Good heavens!” cried Sir Douglas Huntingdon, who had listened with increasing horror and dis- may to this colloguy—so that his hair literally stood on end: “is it possible that such a frightful atrocity-——”" “Possible indeed!” ejaculated the Hangman: Now the landlord of the Jolly Waggoner was le tl es ~ S (©) COMIC OO©