’ Melusine shrugged. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. That was the true marvel of it. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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