Yet they look as if they might be bumbailiffs.
'Tis the kind ye herd with, is't not?
Give you good-even, Mr.Green." And he went on, cool and unconcerned, and turned in through the narrow doorway by the glover's shop to mount the stairs to Sir Richard's lodging.
Mr.Green stood still to watch him go.

Then he swore through his teeth, and beckoned one of those whose acquaintance he had disclaimed.
"'Tis like him, ecod! to have gone in in spite of seeing me and you! He's cool! Damned cool! But he'll be cooler yet, codso!" Then, briskly questioning his satellite: "Is Sir Richard within, Jerry ?" "Ay," answered Jerry--a rough, heavily-built tatterdemalion.

"He's been there these two hours." "'Tis our chance to nab 'em both, then-our last chance, maybe.

The game is up.

That fine gentleman has smoked it." He was angry beyond measure.
Their plans were far from ripe, and yet to delay longer now that their vigilance was detected was, perhaps, to allow Sir Richard to slip through their fingers, as well as the other.