At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. " "Arrested!" exclaimed Trenchard, drawing his sword. He deserves none. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate.
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