"A bob?--that's good enough," said the urchin, and scampered down a back street so quickly that they had some difficulty in keeping up with him. Later on, when they caught him at the end of a _cul-de-sac_, Allen gripped the guide by his wet shoulder. "Do you know a boy called Butsey?" "Oh my eyes and ears, don't I just? Why, he's Father Don's pet. But he's in disgrace now." "Why?" asked Horace coolly. "Father Don sent him down the country, and he didn't turn up at the hour he was told to. He's been whacked and put on bread and water," said the brat, grinning, "worse luck for Father Don. Butsey'll put a knife into him for that." "Good," whispered Allen to the American as they went on in the darkness. "Butsey will have a grudge against Father Don, and will be all the more ready to tell." "Humph! I'm not so sure. There's honour amongst thieves." They had no further time for conversation, for the guide turned down a narrow lane leading off the _cul-de-sac_, and knocked at the door of a ruined house with broken windows. A shrill voice inside asked who was there. "Swell mobsmen with swag for the patrico," said the guide, whistling shrilly. "Show us a light." The door opened, and a small pinched-looking girl appeared with a candle. She examined the two men and then admitted them. When they ventured within, she shut the door, which seemed to be very strong. But Horace noticed a door on the left of the passage leading into an empty room. He knew that one of the broken windows set in the street wall gave light to this room, and resolved to make it a line of retreat should they be too hardly pressed. Meantime the boy and girl led the way along the passage and towards a trap-door. Here, steps leading downward brought them to a large cellar filled with ragged people of both sexes. There was a fire in a large chimney, which seemed to have been constructed to roast an ox, and round this they sat, their damp garments steaming in the heat. A curtain portioned off a corner of the cellar, and when the strangers entered two shrill voices were heard talking together angrily. But the thieves around paid no attention. "Red Jerry," said Horace, touching Allen's arm, and he pointed to a truculent-looking ruffian, almost as big as himself, who was lying on a bed composed of old newspapers and day-bills. He seemed to be drunk, for he breathed heavily and his pipe had fallen from his fevered lips. "Nice man to tackle," muttered Horace. "Come along," said the guide, tugging at Allen's hand. "Father Don's got some one in there, but he'll see you. What's the swag--silver?" "Never you mind," said Horace; "you find Butsey and I'll make it worth your while." "Give us a sov. and I'll do it," said the brat. "I'm Billy, and fly at that." "Good. A sov. you shall have."