'You can speak for yourself, but I can tell yer I don't put MYSELF down as a slave.' 'Nor me neither,' said Crass sturdily.

'Let them call their selves slaves as wants to.' At this moment a footstep was heard in the passage leading to the kitchen.

Old Misery! or perhaps the bloke himself! Crass hurriedly pulled out his watch.
'Jesus Christ!' he gasped.

'It's four minutes past one!' Linden frantically seized hold of a pair of steps and began wandering about the room with them.
Sawkins scrambled hastily to his feet and, snatching a piece of sandpaper from the pocket of his apron, began furiously rubbing down the scullery door.
Easton threw down the copy of the Obscurer and scrambled hastily to his feet.
The boy crammed the Chronicles of Crime into his trousers pocket.
Crass rushed over to the bucket and began stirring up the stale whitewash it contained, and the stench which it gave forth was simply appalling.
Consternation reigned.
They looked like a gang of malefactors suddenly interrupted in the commission of a crime.
The door opened.

It was only Bundy returning from his mission to the Bookie..