‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. Pretend to weep both of you as loudly as you can. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
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