"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them.
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