But here it was different.

The company were all hooded and silent, sitting in rows: and there was a dismal sound of distant waters, and an indefinable darkness and horror in the air; and, on a sudden, up sat the corpse of Sturk, and thundered, with a shriek, a dreadful denunciation, and Dangerfield started up in his bed aghast, and cried--'Charles Archer!' The storm was bellowing and shrieking outside, and for some time that grim, white gentleman, bolt upright in his shirt, did not know distinctly in what part of the world, or, indeed, in what world he was.
'So,' said Mr.Dangerfield, soliloquising, 'Charles Nutter's alive, and in prison, and what comes next?
'Tis enough to make one believe in a devil almost! Why wasn't he drowned, d--n him?
How did he get himself taken, d--n him again?
From the time I came into this unlucky village I've smelt danger.

That accursed beast, a corpse, and a ghost, and a prisoner at last--well, he has been my evil genius.

_If_ he were drowned or hanged; born to be hanged, I hope: all I want is quiet--just _quiet_; but I've a feeling the play's not played out yet.

He'll give the hangman the slip, will he: not if I can help it, though; but caution, Sir, caution; life's at stake--my life's on the cast.