Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. Vorsack looked pale and pink.
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