Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. The audience clapped more heartily.
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