“I won’t give you a check though—Yes, I will. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. The door opened. Won’t you come and have some tea with me? There is a new place in Bond Street,” he hastened to say, “where everything is very well done, and they give us music, if that is any attraction to you. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine.
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