Besides, he reflected that the wheels would make a terrible clatter in the silent streets at night.
Of course he might go out and walk down to the river first and see if there was anybody in the way, but even then he could not be sure of finding no one when he returned with his burden.
But there was the cellar, after all.

He could go down in the night and bury his brother's body there.

No one ever went down, not even he himself.

Who would suspect the place?
It would be a ghastly job, the chiseller thought.

He fancied how it would be in the cold, damp vault with a lantern--the white face of the murdered man.