‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. "Confusion!" he cried; "something has happened. My, um, my curfew. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him.
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