“The place should be somewhere here,” said Bumble, consulting a scrap of paper he held in his hand.
“Halloa there!” cried a voice from above.
Following the sound, Bumble raised his head, and descried a man looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story.
“Stand still a minute,” cried the voice; “I’ll be with you directly.” With which the head disappeared, and the door closed.
“Is that the man?” asked Mr. Bumble’s good lady.
Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative.
“Then, mind what I told you,” said the matron, “and be careful to say as little as you can, or you’ll betray us at once.”
Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was apparently about to express some doubts relative to the advisability of proceeding any farther with the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of Monks, who opened a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned them inwards.
“Come!” he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. “Don’t keep me here!”