His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. "I'll not believe it. Jonathan had to feel his way. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. Felix Hospital,” he said. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. 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. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering.
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