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These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. CHAPTER I. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. " At this moment Charcam entered the room. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear. I can't invent; the thing won't come. We simply can’t get away. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss.
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