'Well--you see, Merridew, he knows. This one doesn't. The Bishop, he knows--and the Captain--and they don't like it. This man doesn't care. For you see they will certainly have to stand in Pillory--and if the mob don't love money lenders they love thief takers less, and Merridew's the most notorious thief taker in town. Well--it's a wonderful country for Law and Justice. Now, I suppose they poor French would be content to hang up a man at once. We don't. We give 'em an hour's ride in a cart where they sometimes gets roses but more often gets addled eggs. Or we put 'em in pillory where they may get dead cats or they may get flints and broken bottles.' I came away. The heavy gate closed: the key turned in the lock; the four wretches were shut in once more, there, at least, the prey to the keenest terrors, dying a thousand deaths before they should be taken out for the dead cats and the addled eggs and perhaps the flints and broken bottles. CHAPTER XVII THE CASE OF CLARINDA The town has notoriously a short memory, yet I doubt if there be any still living who remember the year 1760 and have forgotten the case of Jenny Wilmot. For, indeed, no one for some time talked of anything else. There were armies in the field: these were forgotten; there were fleets and naval battles and expeditions: these were forgotten; there was the strife of party: that was forgotten; there were the anxieties of trade: they were forgotten; there were scandals among the aristocracy: they were forgotten; there was the new play; the new poem: all were clean forgotten and neglected while the town talked at my Lady's breakfast or Moll King's tavern of Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot; Jenny Wilmot. The world at first could find nothing too bad to say or think of her. At the clubs they suspended their play while they listened to the latest rumour about Jenny. At the coffee-houses every quidnunc and gobemouche brought a new story which he had heard and transmitted with embroideries; or else a trifling variation in the old story to communicate. People remembered how she disappeared mysteriously from the stage a year or two before this catastrophe!--Ha! what a proof of wickedness was that! Why, it was now known that she was none other than Madame Vallance who provided the masquerades and the Assemblies in Soho Square and was never seen by the company except in a domino. There was another illustration of her wicked disposition! It was also recalled, for the benefit of those who did not remember the fact, that she had been an Orange Girl at Drury before she was promoted to the stage. What could be expected of an Orange Girl? And now it was actually brought to light--could one believe it!--it was actually discovered--had she not herself confessed it?--that her mother and sister kept a tavern in St. Giles's, a place of resort for the lowest; a mere thieves' kitchen; the rendezvous of highwaymen, footpads, pickpockets and rogues of every description.