"You are right. There is cooking going on. We are not very far from Mrs. Lovett's pie manufactory."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; and the smell, or rather I ought to say the odour of which the air is full, comes from the bakehouse."
The secretary gave a perceptible shudder, and Mr. Villimay uttered a groan. The gentleman who was with the secretary was about to say something, but the magistrate, in a low voice, interrupted him, saying—
"Pardon me, but now we are in close proximity to the place of our destination, I would recommend the profoundest caution and silence."
"Certainly—certainly. We will only be silent spectators."
"It is better, I think," added Sir Richard Blunt, "to allow me to carry on the whole of the conversation that is to ensue; and at the same time, any of you gentlemen can suggest to me a question to ask, and I will at once put it to the man we come to speak to."
"That will do, Sir Richard, that will do."
The magistrate now hurried on as though those savoury steams that scented the air from the bakehouse of Mrs. Lovett's pies were to him more disagreeable than the horrible smell in the vaults that made everybody shake again. In a few minutes he arrived at a room, for it could not be called a vault. It had a floor of rough stone flags, which seemed as though they had originally belonged to some of the vaults, and had been pulled up and carried to this place to make a rude flooring. There was nothing very remarkable about the walls of this place, save at one part, and there there was evidently a door, across which was placed a heavy iron bar.
"It is through there," said Sir Richard.