It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. ' Will that do?" "It will," replied Trenchard. For this he was prepared; but he was not prepared for the almost insurmountable obstacles which it presented. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket.
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