The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 210: what you’re looking at

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

THE PASTILLES 187 that escape and offering a reward for his reapprehension. “There are likewise, your worship,’ added the super- intendent, ‘‘ grave and serious charges against this man arising out of certain discoveries made at a house in Lambeth, and which your worship doubtless bears in mind.” ‘““It does not appear to me necessary to go into that matter,’’ said the magistrate. ‘‘ The course to be pursued in the present instance is clear enough. All that I have to do is to satisfy myself of the identity of the prisoner now in the dock with the one who escaped from the gaol at Liver- pool, and to order his transfer to that town, that he may duly take his trial at the next assizes holden for the northern circuit. What evidence, Mr. Superintendent, have you to establish this identity? ”’ “Tf the prisoner, your worship, was stripped of his dis- guise,’ responded the official thus addressed, ‘‘ there are no doubt plenty of persons here who could identify him.” “Please your worship,” said one of the constables who had captured the Burker, ‘‘ I wanted to take off all that hair from his face, but he says it is stuck on so tight that it can only be removed by hot water, and there was not time —”’ ‘You had better remove the prisoner for a few minutes,” interrupted the magistrate, ‘‘ and let the false hair be taken off.”’ “Please your worship,’ exclaimed a man who had just entered the court, and was now making his way through the crowd, ‘‘I can identify him as he is. It was I who gave the information that caused his arrest.” All eyes were turned upon the speaker, but it was not necessary for Barney to look at his countenance to see who he was; he had already recognized the voice, and a low but savage imprecation fell from his lips as he found that he was after all betrayed by Jack Smedley. The mis- creant clenched his fist and ground his teeth with the deep, concentrated rage that filled his soul, but he was impotent for purposes of mischief; otherwise he would have flung like a tiger at Smedley, to throttle or to tear him to pieces. There he was, however, powerless, and under complete restraint, shut up in the dock, manacles upon his wrists, a policeman on his right hand, a policeman on his left, and numerous other constables close by to seize upon him at the least demonstrations of violence. CORNICLOOOKS (CO)