if they do they won't pay any heed. For where do you suppose you are? Why, in Rotherhithe, safe in the deepest dungeon, that is to say, cellar, of Mr. Richard Byles's Seamen's Employment Agency, otherwise known as Dirty Dick's Crimping-house. Above our heads the Thames is flowing at this moment. When it ebbs, you will, unless you're a good boy—but I anticipate. Bisham, unmuzzle the gent and, if he calls out, kick him in the ribs for all you're worth. Because he can't make himself heard beyond these walls is no reason why he should be allowed to deafen us."
Her companion (who was vaguely recognisable as the erstwhile poet Dunkle) removed the gag and gave the Archdeacon a little weak brandy and water in the silver cup of a flask which he produced from his hip pocket.
