Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. She was making it up. 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. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm.
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