But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. Charcoal. The door to the room in question was closed. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. But, go and see who it is, love.
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