‘Aye, sir. ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. . Then he rallied, smiling a little. Rotten, and covered with a thick coat of dirt, the boards of the floor presented a very insecure footing; the bare walls were scored all over with grotesque designs, the chief of which represented the punishment of Nebuchadnezzar. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated.
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