CHAPTER X. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. Profligate women are never reclaimed. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. He recoiled from the sting.
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