His quick ears caught a similar gurgling from the right in the direction of the next alleyway.

Listening closely, he could have sworn he heard the sounds of a bit biting into hard wood.
A minute later, his own brace and bit carefully secreted, his hand was descending on the shoulder of a man he could not recognize in the gloom, but who, on his knees and wheezing, was steadily boring into the head of a cask.

The culprit made no effort to escape, and when Daughtry struck a match he gazed down into the upturned face of the Ancient Mariner.
"My word!" the steward muttered his amazement softly.

"What in hell are you running water out for ?" He could feel the old man's form trembling with violent nervousness, and his own heart smote him for gentleness.
"It's all right," he whispered.

"Don't mind me.