"Come on," said he; "there's an empty hall upstairs that ought to do us.

It's as big as a rink." London Bill led the way up the foul, creaking stairs, and opened a door on the top floor.

It was a room the bigness of the building, and had been used for dancing.

Drawing a couple of wooden chairs to a front window, Storri's guide motioned him to a seat.
"Here we be," he said; "now what's it all about ?" Storri, nothing backward when assured that no one was playing eavesdropper, began to talk, carefully avoiding his usual jerky Russian mannerisms.

You have been told of Storri's graphic clearness of statement, once he had fully perfected the outlines of some enterprise.
In fifteen minutes, but only in vaguest way, he laid his proposal before London Bill; the proposal was so framed that the 'peter-man understood no more than that a bank of unusual richness was to be broken into, and his aid was sought.
"Your share alone," whispered Storri, "will foot up for a million." London Bill's little black eyes twinkled like those of a rat.