But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. ’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. She said as much to him. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. That is the dreadful truth. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time.
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