The door to the room in question was closed. 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. ’ ‘Like your father,’ Gerald put in deliberately. No, this was imbecile. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour.
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