r guide
along the alley.

CHAPTER XXX

THE GREENGROCER'S CART

Spurge led Copplestone a little way up the narrow alley from the mouth of
which they had observed the recent proceedings, suddenly turned off into
a still narrower passage, and emerged at the rear of an ancient building
of wood and stones which looked as if a stout shove or a strong wind
would bring it down in dust and ruin.

"Back o' that old sail-loft what looks out on this cut," he whispered,
glancing over his shoulder at Copplestone. "Now, guv'nor, we're going in
here. As I said before, I've worked in this place--did a spell here when
I was once lying low for a month or two. I know every inch of it, and if
that lot are under this roof I know where they'll be."

"They'll show fight, you know," remarked Copplestone.

"Well, but ain't we got something to show fight with, too?" answered
Spurge, with a knowing wink. "I've got my revolver handy, what Mr.
Vickers give me, and I reckon you can handle yours. However, it ain't
come to no revolver yet. What I want is to see and hear,
guv'nor--follow me."

He had opened a ramshackle door in the rear of the premises as he spoke
and he now beckoned his companion to follow him down a passage which
evidently led to the front. There was no more than a dim light within,
but Copplestone could see that the whole place was falling to pieces. And
it was all wrapped in a dead silence. Away out on the quay was the rattle
of chains, the creaking of a windlass, the voices of men and shrill
laughter of women, but in there no sound existed. And Spurge suddenly
stopped his stealthy creeping forward and looked at Copplestone
suspiciously.

"Queer, ain't it?" he whispered. "I don't hear a voice, nor yet the ghost
of one! You'd think that if they was in here they'd be talking. But we'll
soon see."

Clambering up a pile of fallen timber which lay in the passage and
beckoning Copplestone to follow his example, Spurge looked through a
broken slat in the wooden partition into an open shed which fronted the
Cut. The shed was empty. Folk were passing to and fro in front of it; the
North Sea tug still lay at the wharf beyond; a man who was evidently its
skipper sat on a tub on its deck placidly smoking his short pipe--but of
Addie Chatfield or of Andrius there was no sign. And the silence in that
crumbling, rat-haunted house was deeper than ever.

"Guv'nor!" muttered Spurge, "How long is it since you see--her?"

"Almost