adventure which might relieve his mind. Even the prospect of a visit
to a thieves' lodging house was more welcome to him than the prospect of
going home alone. "If there's no serious objection to it," he said, "I
own I should like to see the place."

"You'll be safe enough with us," the sergeant replied. "If you don't
mind filthy people and bad language--all right, sir! Cabman, drive to
the Dairy."

Their direction was now towards the south, through a perfect labyrinth
of mean and dirty streets. Twice the driver was obliged to ask his way.
On the second occasion the sergeant, putting his head out of the window
to stop the cab, cried, "Hullo! there's something up."

They got out in front of a long low rambling house, a complete contrast
to the modern buildings about it. Late as the hour was, a mob had
assembled in front of the door. The police were on the spot keeping the
people in order.

Morcross and the sergeant pushed their way through the crowd, leading
Amelius between them. "Something wrong, sir, in the back kitchen," said
one of the policemen answering the sergeant while he opened the street
door. A few yards down the passage there was a second door, with a
man on the watch by it. "There's a nice to-do downstairs," the man
announced, recognizing the sergeant, and unlocking the door with a key
which he took from his pocket. "The landlord at the Dairy knows his
lodgers, sir," Morcross whispered to Amelius; "the place is kept like
a prison." As they passed through the second door, a frantic voice
startled them, shouting in fury from below. An old man came hobbling
up the kitchen stairs, his eyes wild with fear, his long grey hair all
tumbled over his face. "Oh, Lord, have you got the tools for breaking
open the door?" he asked, wringing his dirty hands in an agony of
supplication. "She'll set the house on fire! she'll kill my wife and
daughter!" The sergeant pushed him contemptuously out of the way,
and looked round for Amelius. "It's only the landlord, sir; keep near
Morcross, and follow me."

They descended the kitchen stairs, the frantic cries below growing
louder and louder at every step they took; and made their way through
the thieves and vagabonds crowding together in the passage. Passing on
their right hand a solid old oaken door fast closed, they reached an
open wicket-gate of iron which led into a stone-paved yard. A heavily
barred window was now visible in the back wall of the house, raised
three or