" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. ' That's your signal. “It couldn’t be. Better get a dress. You know you do, Annabel. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day.
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