CHARLES PRUITT, manservant of Mr George Benham, sworn

A. Mrs Benham was always gadding. I said nothing, while she lived. But it can make no difference to her now. Gaming halls. Unsavoury places, you know. She disguised herself. Breeches, jacket, flat cap. No, I wasn’t comfortable about it. There were times I wondered should I say something to the master.

Q. Did you?

A. I was caught between the two of them, you could say. I conveyed her, and brought her back, and any more than that was not my business. I ‒

Q. Yes?

A. It’s just ‒ I did once take the pair of them, the prisoner and the mistress, to a gathering of blacks, in some tap-room off Fleet Street. I heard talk that it was Radicals the mistress was mixing with, towards the end, though I can’t say yea or nay to it. Also, I did at one time convey her to an address on Gant Street to meet a Mr Cambridge, Laddie Lightning he called himself. The pugilist? I’m only sorry I did not say something to the master after all, seeing how things turned out.