He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. ’ Trodger had started towards the stairs, signing to his men to get behind the lady. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. He took about five minutes. If he was asleep, then she much regretted that she must wake him up. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows.
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