“I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. " "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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