The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 395: what you’re looking at

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

j 318 “TH, ACOMRYT OF] TaN pO 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, notwithstanding.” “The truth is,’’ answered Sir Douglas, ‘I am a man of rank and fortune. My carriage has been robbed by a set of ruffans 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 dark- ness, caught a glimpse of the light shining from your window. Now, then, will you refuse me admission? — for depend upon it, the accommodation which I seek will be lberally 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 overheard by. the Hangman, Sally Melmoth, and Jack the Foundling, who had established their quarters at the Jolly Wagoner for the night. They had not as yet retired to rest, but had been carousing with the landlord until the moment the baronet knocked at the front door. As he gave the above account of his adventures, the Hangman and his companions at once comprehended that 1t must have been Bencull’s party who had waylaid the carriage, and they likewise understood 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 accordingly 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 young woman. Now the landlord of the Jolly Wagoner was neither more nor less than one of the members of Daniel Coffin’s extensive brotherhood of desperadoes; and therefore, as the baronet revealed the details of his adventures, the fellow at once understood how he ought to act. But if he experienced any indecision on the point, it speedily vanished as the Hang- man’s voice reached his ears, in a gruff whisper from the ECORNIE OOO KSa(E)