Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. This done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell.
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