‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. He came over to me. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell.
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