All the dreadful lot of bad silver that's been about, they're at the bottom of.

And the head of the gang not taken!--escaped, sir, like a ghost on the stage, through a trap-door, after actually locking the runners into his workshop.

The blacksmiths from Barkingham had to break them out; the whole house was found full of iron doors, back staircases, and all that sort of thing, just like the Inquisition.

A most respectable man, the original proprietor! Think what a misfortune to have let his house to a scoundrel who has turned the whole inside into traps, furnaces, and iron doors.

The fellow's reference, sir, was actually at a London bank, where he kept a first-rate account.