“How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. "Five guineas. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. Annabel thought, and thought again. You have to see her to understand. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. I’ve had enough of it. ‘Sapristi. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it.
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