‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. ‘There is no one who could have told him this. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. ‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. . . Just me and another girl named Krista who turned eighteen and left right about when I got there. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him.
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