If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. The man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. . .
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