Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Perhaps I'd better open it now. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London.
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