Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. The truth was impossible, indecent. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. He'll be brought out at this door, and may probably make some resistance.
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