Then it dawned. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. And then her pace slackened. The arrival of la tante Prudence late next day had changed all this, it is true. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. And Pottiswick, of course.
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