" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. " Mounting the roof of the prison, they traced the fugitive's course to the further extremity of the building, where they found his blanket attached to the spike proving that he escaped in that direction. Wood, disdainfully. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead.
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