See here--this queer-looking machine, gentlemen (from which two of my men derive their nicknames), is what we call a Mill-and-Screw." He began to explain the machine with the manner and tone of a lecturer at a scientific institution.

In spite of themselves, the officers burst out laughing.

I looked round at Screw as the doctor got deeper into his explanations.

The traitor was rolling his wicked eyes horribly at me.
They presented so shocking a sight, that I looked away again.

What was I to do next?
The minutes were getting on, and I had not heard a word yet, through the peephole, on the subject of the reserve of Bow Street runners outside.