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I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. Melusine did not try to fight her captor, for that would only make him angry. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. His literary instincts began to stir.
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