IIATTON 73 



for Hatton — ' Hattoii-iii-tlie-IIinterland,' one might 

 well call it. 



Have you ever been to Hatton ? Have you, 

 indeed, ever even heard of it ? I sujDpose not, for 

 Hatton is a remote hamlet, tucked away in that 

 triano-ular corner of Middlesex situated betw^een the 



o 



branching Bath and Exeter Roads which is practically 

 unexplored. Yet the place, after the uninteresting, 

 unrelieved flatness of the market Q;ardens that stretch 

 for miles around, is almost pretty. It boasts a few 

 isolated houses, and has (what is more to the point in 

 this connection) a neat and cheerful-looking old inn, 

 fronted by a large horse-pond. 



The ' Green Man ' at Hatton looks nowadays a 

 guileless place, with no secrets, and yet it possesses 

 behind that innocent exterior a veritable highway- 

 man's hiding-place. This retiring -place of modest 

 worth, eager to escape from the embarrassing atten- 

 tions of the outer world, may be seen by the curious 

 traveller in the little bar-parlour on the left hand as 

 you enter the front door. 



It is a narrow, low -ceiled room, with an old- 

 fashioned fire - grate in it, fiUino- what was once a 

 huge chimney-corner. At the back of this grate is 

 a hole leading to a passage which gives access to a 

 cavernous nook in the thickness of the wall. Through 

 this hole, decently covered at most times with an 

 innocent -looking fire -back, crawled those exquisite 

 knights of the road, what time the Bow Street 

 runners were questing almost at their heels. 



And here, it is related, one of these fine fellows 

 nearly revealed his presence while the officers of the 



