"Are we to fight here?" demanded Barnabas, buttoning his coat.
"No, not yet, sir. Ah! there's Oliver--told you it vould be a fine
night. This vay, sir!" And turning to the left again, Mr. Shrig led
the way down a narrow passage. Half-way along this dim alley he
paused, and seating himself upon a dim step, fell to mopping his brow.
"A extra-special capital place, this, sir!" said he. "Bankside's
good enough for a capital job, but this is better, ah, a sight better!
Many a unfort'nate wictim has been made a corp' of, hereabouts, sir!"
"Yes," said Barnabas shivering, for the air struck chill and damp,
"but what do we do now?"
"V'y, sir, I'll tell you. Ve sit here, nice and qviet and let 'em
run on till they meet my four specials and Corporal Richard Roe,
late Grenadiers. My specials has their staves and knows how to use
'em, and the Corp has 's 'ook,--and an 'ook ain't no-vise pleasant
as a vepping. So, ven they come running back, d' ye see, theer's you
vith your stick, an' me vith my barker, an' so ve 'ave 'em front and
rear."
"But can we stop them--all?"
"Ah!" nodded Mr. Shrig, "all as the Corp 'as left of 'em.
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