hadn't better run away, when they reached the bottom of the hill: his conductor catching him by the arm, pushed open the door of a house near Field-lane, and, drawing him into the passage, closed it behind them.
"Now, then," cried a voice from below, in reply to a whistle from the Dodger.
"Plummy and slam!" was the reply.
This seemed to be some watchword or signal that all was right; for the light of a feeble candle gleamed on the wall at the farther end of the passage, and a man's face peeped out from where a balustrade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken away.
"There 's two on you," said the man, thrusting the candle farther out, and shading his eyes with his hand. "Who 's the t' other one?"
"A new pal," replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oliver forward.
"Where did he come from?"
"Greenland. Is Faghi up stairs?"
"Yes, he 's a sortin' the wipes. Up with you." The candle was drawn back, and the face disappeared.
