"Never—never!" The words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was violently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. 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. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. Earles drew out his cheque book. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast.
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