It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. ’ ‘Very true. You understand me, Charcoal. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice. There was absolute quiet.
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