To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. That was something in his favour. "A good idea!" exclaimed the carpenter. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. " "Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. . Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question.
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