ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. But, as he made no answer, he was removed. "I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs.
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