"My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. And, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, "Follow him, Caliban. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge.
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