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"But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. " "Did I hear you aright?" asked Trenchard, with startling eagerness.
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