The clock struck half-past ten. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. I took the usual way home. He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers.
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