At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. To return. . Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. ‘You imbecile. .
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