supposed by some of
the prisoners that a secret means of communication must exist between
Sir Giles's habitation and the jail; but as both he and Lanyere
possessed keys of the wicket, such a contrivance was obviously
unnecessary, and would have been dangerous, as it must have been found
out at some time by those interested in the discovery.

It has been shown, however, that, in one way or other, Sir Giles had
nearly as much to do with the management of the Fleet Prison as those to
whom its governance was ostensibly committed, and that he could, if he
thought proper, aggravate the sufferings of its unfortunate occupants
without incurring any responsibility for his treatment of them. He
looked upon the Star-Chamber and the Fleet as the means by which he
could plunder society and stifle the cry of the oppressed; and it was
his business to see that both machines were kept in good order, and
worked well.

But to return to his habitation. Its internal appearance corresponded
with its forbidding exterior. The apartments were large, but cold and
comfortless, and, with two or three exceptions, scantily furnished.
Sumptuously decorated, these exceptional rooms presented a striking
contrast to the rest of the house; but they were never opened, except on
the occasion of some grand entertainment--a circumstance of rare
occurrence. There was a large hall of entrance, where Sir Giles's
myrmidons were wont to assemble, with a great table in the midst of it,
on which no victuals were ever placed--at least at the extortioner's
expense--and a great fire-place, where no fire ever burnt. From this a
broad stone staircase mounted to the upper part of the house, and
communicated by means of dusky corridors and narrow passages with the
various apartments. A turnpike staircase connected the turret to which
Sir Giles used to resort to reconnoitre the Fleet Prison, with the lower
part of the habitation, and similar corkscrew stairs existed in the
other angles of the structure. When stationed at the loophole, little
recked Sir Giles of the mighty cathedral that frowned upon him like the
offended eye of heaven. His gaze was seldom raised towards Saint Paul's,
or if it were, he had no perception of the beauty or majesty of the
ancient cathedral. The object of interest was immediately below him. The
sternest realities of life were what he dealt with. He had no taste for
the sublime or the beautiful.

Sir Giles had just paid an inquisitorial visit,