She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. First the passage to be negotiated. Folks don’t like ’em. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death.
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