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The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. "Neither man nor woman shall apply that term to me. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. "If you are human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?" "I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland. "Where are the boys?" "In the hall.
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