But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. He was snoring stupidly. "Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day.
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