Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. " This placard was adorned with a rude wood-cut, representing the unhappy malefactor at the place of execution. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. "Friday!" echoed Mrs. " "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out. Vorsack. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible.
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