" "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. " "Where—where?" cried Thames. “Yeah, I know. Let us proceed with our tale. "So you shall, Sir," replied Austin, who at this moment recollected, with some uneasiness, the applications at the lodge-door during the night. ” “Excuse me? You are Hitler Youth?” Lucy replied, astounded. ’ ‘Ah, that was well done of him,’ exclaimed Melusine.
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