At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. . ’ Even as they watched, a shadow passed across one of the apertures. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. ” “I’m sorry. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. There were two.
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