Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street.
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