The Club of Queer Trades
'you've got to put on those clothes,' and he pointed to a poke-bonnet and a heap of female clothes in the corner of the room.
"I will not dwell, Mr. Swinburne, upon the details of what followed. I had no choice. I could not fight five men, to say nothing of a loaded pistol. In five minutes, sir, the Vicar of Chuntsey was dressed as an old woman—as somebody else's mother, if you please—and was dragged out of the house to take part in a crime.
"It was already late in the afternoon, and the nights of winter were closing in fast. On a dark road, in a blowing wind, we set out towards the lonely house of Colonel Hawker, perhaps the queerest cortege that ever straggled up that or any other road. To every human eye, in every external, we were six very respectable old ladies of small means, in black dresses and refined but antiquated bonnets; and we were really five criminals and a clergyman.
"I will cut a long story short. My brain was whirling like a windmill as I walked, trying to think of some manner of escape.
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