Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. Into the second, denominated the Bilbowes,—also a dismal place,—refractory prisoners were thrust, and placed in a kind of stocks, whence the name. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted. ” Sir John smiled. I'll put a brace of dogs on your track, who'll soon hunt you down.
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