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Updated: May 22, 2025
"No man where Mistress Sally Salisbury is? Ho-ho!" She knew the voice. It was that of Captain Jeremy Rofflash. Seizing a lamp Sally Salisbury ran down the stairs and opened the door. Holding the lamp high over her head the light fell with striking effect upon her luxuriant yellow hair clustering down upon a neck and shoulders that Juno might have envied. The resemblance did not stop here.
When she was able to rise and look over the parapet no one was on the abutment. Jeremy Rofflash had met his fate. "The Beggar's Opera" continued on its triumphant way. Night after night the theatre was packed. Night after night Polly was listened to with increasing delight. She had never sung her plaintive ditties with such pathos. No one suspected the reason.
Though he knew that Sally had extracted a promise from Vane to meet her in Spring Gardens, he was by no means certain that Vane would keep his word. But Rofflash was never without resources, and he thought he could devise a plan to bring the meeting about. His scheme proved easier to execute than he expected. Vane unconsciously played into his hands.
The door sturdy as it was would not stand much more. As a matter of fact the mob had procured a stout wooden beam from somewhere, twelve or fourteen feet long and were making it serve as a battering-ram. "Damnation! I'm not going to be trapped," roared Rofflash, "I know the secret way to the chapel. You stay here and face 'em." "No. If that murderous mob doesn't find you they'll turn upon me.
How indeed could Polly imagine that her romance had ended in a tragedy, that the man lying so still, his white face upturned to the moonlit sky, was her lover, Lancelot Vane that the man who had done him to death was Jeremy Rofflash that the woman in hot chase of his murderer was Sally Salisbury?
He bowed and turned towards the man who, with Jarvis, had interposed in the early stages of the altercation. This man was Rofflash. He had dragged Sally Salisbury some three or four yards away probably to prevent her interfering and persuading Vane not to fight.
He was thinking that the gratification of his spite would cost him a pretty penny. Not only would the doctor, Rofflash and Jarvis have to be paid for their silence, but the waterman also. Vane's wound was roughly bandaged, and he was taken to the boat still unconscious. The journey by water was made, and he was landed safely at the foot of London Bridge and consigned to the care of Dr.
The coach could have been driven into the Park itself, but this could not be done without the King's permission. Two men got out and walked rapidly to the pond. "A quarter past seven," said one drawing his watch from his fob. "The time of meeting, Rofflash, you say was seven." "Aye, and they'll be punctual to the minute, I'll swear." "Then we ought to find the turtle doves billing and cooing.
I couldn't withdraw it in time." Rofflash, while with Marlborough's army, had acquired some rough knowledge of surgery. His hands had gone over Vane's chest in the region of the heart. The wound was on the right side. "There's life left," said the captain, "but he won't last long without a surgeon. The blade's touched the lungs, I'll swear. Look ye here, sir.
But they could only hear, not see, so dimly was the theatre lighted. Meanwhile Vane had sprung to his feet. "You lie you ruffian," he shouted and his hand went to his sword. The people in the front and back benches rose; the women screamed; one of the theatre attendants who chanced to be near seized Rofflash who struggled violently and swore loudly.
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