As my partner had said, there was only one thing to do--and that was to put it out of our client's power to do us harm.

The first step in this direction was to get him hopelessly drunk, and this we successfully did in a back room of our office.
Both of us knew that a dozen pairs of eyes were watching the entrance of the old-fashioned building in which our rooms were located, and that any attempt on our part to get Hawkins out of the city would result in his immediate arrest.

Once he were sent back to the Tombs he would be out of our control.

So, for three days, we kept him--a foul, unwashed, maudlin thing--a practical prisoner, although from his condition quite unconscious of it.

Day and night, turn and turn about, Gottlieb and I watched while he snored and gibbered, cursed and giggled; but the strain was getting too much for both of us and we set ourselves at work to devise a way to spirit him away.
Our offices were situated in a block the other side of which consisted of tenement-houses.