Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Beth Trapaga and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
By
Percy J. Brebner
Author of "Princess Maritza," "Vayenne," "A Royal Ward"
1911
Dismal in appearance, the painted sign over the mean doorway almostobliterated by time and weather, there was nothing attractive about the"Punch-Bowl" tavern in Clerkenwell. It was hidden away at the end of anarrow alley, making no effort to vaunt its existence to the world atlarge, and to many persons, even in the near neighbourhood, it wasentirely unknown. Like a gentleman to whom debauchery has brought shameand the desire to conceal himself from his fellows, so the "Punch-Bowl"seemed an outcast amongst taverns. Chance visitors were few, wereneither expected nor welcomed, and ran the risk of being told by thelandlady, in terms which there was no possibility of misunderstanding,that the place was not for them. It was natural, therefore, that acertain air of mystery should surround the house, for, although thealley was a cul-de-sac, there were stories of marvellous escapesfrom this trap even when the entrance was closed by a troop of soldiers,and it was whispered that there was a secret way out from the"Punch-Bowl" known only to the favoured few. Nor was an element ofromance wanting. The dwellers in this alley were of the poorest sort,dirty and unkempt, picking up a precarious livelihood, pickpockets andcutpurses—"foysters" and "nyppers" as their thieves' slang named them;yet, through all this wretched shabbiness there would flash at intervalssome fine gentleman, richly dressed, and with the swagger of St. James'sin his gait. Conscious of the sensation he occasioned, he passed throughthe alley looking strangely out of place, yet with no uncertain step. Hewas a hero, not only to these ragged worshippers, but in a far widercircle where wit and beauty moved; he knew it, gloried in it, and reckedlittle of the price which must some day be paid for such popularity. Thedestination of these gentlemen was always the "Punch-Bowl" tavern.
Neither of a man, nor of a tavern, is it safe to judge only by theexterior. A grim and forbidding countenance may conceal a warm heart,even as the unprepossessing "Punch-Bowl" contained a cosy andcomfortable parlour. To-night, half a dozen fine gentlemen were enjoyingtheir wine, and it was evident that the landlady was rather proud of herguests. Buxom, and not too old to forget that she had once beenaccounted pretty, she still loved smartness and bright colours, was notaverse to a kiss upon occasion, and had a jest—coarse, perhaps, butwith some wit in it—for each of her customers. She knew themwell—their secrets, their lo