Five minutes later Vane was joined by Jarvis.
"We've settled the business very comfortably," said Jarvis.

"Seven o'clock at Battersea Fields.

It's now nearly midnight.

We'll get a rest at the nearest tavern; have a few hours sleep, and you'll wake as fresh as a lark." Vane made no reply, and Jarvis sliding his arm within that of his companion, led him out of the gardens.

They took the direction of Wandsworth, keeping by the river bank, and Jarvis made a halt at a tumbledown rookery of a waterside tavern--the "Feathers." Vane was so overwhelmed by the prospect of a possible tragedy that he scarcely noticed the dirt, the squalidness, the hot and foetid air and the evil-looking fellows who stared at them when he and Jarvis entered.
On the strength of the order of a bottle of wine the landlord gave them the use of his own room, and Vane threw himself on a hard settee, but not to sleep.