In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room.
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