"That's English, any how," said the voice, softening in its tone. "Stop a minute."
Markham heard a door close in the area below; and in a few moments the bolts were drawn back inside the one at which he was standing.
"Now then, my ben-cull—in with you," said a man, as he opened the front door, and held a candle high up above his head at the same time.
Markham stepped into a narrow passage, and placed his foot against the door in such a way as to keep it open. But the precaution was unnecessary, for the policeman had glided in almost simultaneously with himself.
"Now, no noise, old feller," said the constable, in a hasty whisper to the man who had opened the door: "our business isn't with any of your set."
"Wery good," returned the porter of Rats' Castle: "you know best—it isn't for me to say nothink."
"Go first, sir," whispered the officer to Markham. "You seem to know him better than me, for I never saw him but once—and then only for a minute or two."
"Which way?" demanded Richard.
"Straight on—and then down stairs. You keep behind us, old feller," added the policeman, turning to the porter.
Markham descended a flight of narrow and precipitate steps, and at the bottom found himself in a large room formed of two kitchens thrown into one.