The breath became words. "Don't you struggle, my little beauty. We're on your side, ain't it? Oh, my little deario, you are in safe hands now, ain't you though?"

Knocker stopped kicking and waited. The voice he heard close to his ear was the voice that had invited them into the coal-hole; it was a sickly whining voice with a creaking edge to it. Knocker felt himself carried into another part of the cellar and not for one second did the strong and stringy hands that clutched him relax their hold. Knocker didn't like this at all. He slid his hand behind him to reach for his catapult but his hand encountered a large adult one in the act of pulling the catapult away, yet he was still held firmly by two other hands. Was there then another adult in the dark cellar, or did the beast that was carrying him have three hands? Knocker shivered; where on earth were the others?

Suddenly his captor shifted his grip and Knocker was grasped by the scruff of the neck and thrown roughly into space. He landed against another body and he heard Torreycanyon yell out, "Ouch, why don't they put a light on?" At that moment there was a clashing sound as someone slammed a steel door. After a moment's silence a light was switched on, revealing the most dismal sight.

Knocker on his hands and knees blinked his eyes, the bright light coming after the darkness almost blinding him. He shook his head. He could not believe what he saw. He and the other nine were imprisoned in a large cage such as one might see at a circus, only this cage had its bars placed very close together, so close that even a Borrible could not get through. In fact, the cage might well have been made especially for Borribles. Outside the cage, in a large cellar room, stood two men, one middle-aged, the other old. The old man, a boney creature, was rubbing his hands, grinning and sniffing with glee at his dewdrop. The younger man, Dewdrop's son, stood nodding his head stupidly and smiling an uneasy smile, as if he had sat in a mess and was not quite sure what to do about it. He was an idiot, squarely built; a monster of great strength.

Knocker got to his feet and looked at his companions. They were motionless, staring at the jeering old man. Their faces were white and hard with fear.

"Oh, no," cried Sydney, turning her head away from the dreadful scene, "a Borrible-Snatcher."

Stonks grabbed at the bars and tried to shake them with all his power. "You dirty old sod," he yelled at the top of his voice." Let us out of here. I'll kill you, I'll kill you."

The old man only rubbed his hands harder and sniffed more happily. He elbowed his son and nodded his head so vigorously that it seemed that the dewdrop must leave his nose for ever, but it stuck like gum, swinging backwards and forwards clanging against his nostrils.

"Look at the dearios," he chortled. "Ten lovely little Borribles. I've never had such a haul in my own life; we'll be rich, Erbie, so rich that the horse and cart won't be able to carry all our goodies. Oh, my God, ain't it beautiful! A little bit of persuasion and they'll be workin' day and night, ain't it? Best little deario burglars in the whole wide world, ain't it, Erbie?"

Erbie did not change his expression one bit, but he nodded slowly and said, "Yeah, dad, yeah," as ideas swam sightless through his muddy brain, like poisoned fish in the Wandle.

"Blimey, we're in serious trouble now," said Bingo. "A Borrible-Snatcher, Dewdrop and Son. We'll be lucky to get out of this alive, and if we ain't dead, we'll be caught, sure as eggs is poached."

"Keep your heads," said Knocker quietly, though he felt as scared as the others. "Anyone here got a catapult?"

Dewdrop cackled and slapped his son on the back so heartily that the moron staggered forward a step or two and lost his inane smile, but it soon returned, as gormless as before.

"Oh no, me deario, we got all the catapults; dangerous things as can hurt blokes, like those poor constables outside rolling on the ground with their knees cracked, ain't it? And my boy Erbie, he took all the stones too. We're going to look after them for you, don't you worry your little heads . . . and your haversacks, too. I'll look after you real well while you're here, ain't it? And you're going to be here a nice long while, my dearios, and we're going to be real friends, ain't it?"

Napoleon's face was white with anger. He raised his fist and shook it at Dewdrop and his son. "You can't keep us for ever, you stinkin' old goat."

"Not for ever, no," agreed Dewdrop, "but for as long as I, or you, live or until you get caught, eh, my deario," and he smirked and slapped his legs in glee and Erbie's smile increased very slightly.

His mirth was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door upstairs. Dewdrop glanced towards the ceiling. "Come on, Erbie," he said, "we'd better go up and tell those nice peelers that we haven't seen a thing. Wouldn't know a Borrible from an ordinary child, would we?" And he twisted his head on his neck and gloated over the caged Adventurers who hung their heads in despair.

"Come on, Erbie," and he got his son by the collar and began to pull him away. "We'll come back to these pretty children as soon as the coppers have gone and you can persuade 'em about a bit if they don't agree to our little plan, me deario, ain't that just it?" Erbie's smile intensified and his eyes probed the Borribles' bodies like damp fingers and he followed his father docilely out of the door which was locked behind him.

The Adventurers fell silent; no one made any suggestions because no one could think of anything. There was no way out. The cage was solid, not one bar in it would budge. The floor was made of iron and so was its roof. Even if they got out of the cage the two doors to the cellar were locked. It seemed hopeless. It was hopeless.

"Well, damn me," said Orococco at last, "we're supposed to be the best in the world, and we get caught first time out by a Snatcher. That's the end, man, the very end."

"What will he do to us?" asked Sydney, a little tearfully.

"What they always do," answered Napoleon, angry with himself and everyone else. "He'll keep us prisoner, beat us, or hand us over to that crazy son of his, and then he'll divide us into two teams, and he'll let one team out while the other stays here as hostages; and we'll have to steal for him, day after day, night after night. Steal not for grub or things that he needs, but for things he can sell, for money, so he can get richer and richer."

"We'll have to do shops, houses, post offices, banks, anything he can think of, just so he gets rich," added Bingo, "and if one of the thieving teams doesn't come back, why, he just beats the others near to death and makes them carry on stealing and when we're no good any more he'll hand us over to the Woollies."

"So you've had it either way," said Knocker, finishing off the explanation to the Neasden girl. "You stay here for ever thieving for him, or you carry on stealing till you get caught, or you run away and your mates get handed over. That's it, no way out."

After this summary of their desperate condition the group was silent again. They did not need any further reminder of the seriousness of their plight. Borrible-Snatchers were a rare phenomenon but were the most dangerous enemy that a Borrible could encounter. Snatchers had been very prevalent in the nineteenth century, snatching Borribles off the streets, even from their beds, and then forcing them to steal, not for survival but for riches. Snatchers sometimes kidnapped ordinary children but they preferred Borribles because they ran faster, were brighter and, above all, Borribles did not grow up and could be used for ever to wriggle through small windows. In modern times only a very few Snatchers were known of but their descriptions and their whereabouts were common knowledge to all Borribles and they shunned them always. But in this strange and unknown part of London, below Rumbledom, Dewdrop had made his lair. He had waited patiently and now he had captured more Borribles in one swoop than he could ever have hoped for in his wildest dreams. Soon he would be rich.

"This looks like the end of our Adventure," said Torreycanyon eventually. "We'll never get to Rumbledom now and no one will ever know what happened to us."

"Don't give up hope, verdammt, " said Adolf, but he didn't hoot and he didn't sound as if he meant it.

"There's one way out," said Knocker, "a way that will save the expedition, but it means a sacrifice."

"You get us out of here," said Napoleon bitterly, "and I'll sacrifice anything, anybody."

"It's like this," said Knocker, and he spoke slowly as if words were hard to come by. "Half of us will be left here always, and five will be out stealing, turn and turn about. One day we could draw lots and the five who are out, well, they just don't come back, but get away. That's all we can do."

The Adventurers looked at each other. It was a solution but a drastic one. Five to go and face the dangers of Rumbledom even more outnumbered than ever; five to be torn apart by Erbie and eventually handed over to the authorities, never to be Borribles again. The thought was horrid. Being caught was an extinguishing of identity, it was death. Worse than death, it was the loss of beauty, of freedom, a descent into ugliness. Look what had happened to Dewdrop, he had been a Borrible and then he had been caught and turned into something normal.

"That's not much of an option," said Stonks. "Two chances we got, a dog's chance and no chance."

"Let us wait," suggested Adolf, "let us wait a while before we decide on such a dire step." He tried to smile. "They will beat us and not give us much food, so Snatchers behave, it says in the old books, but he must let us out to steal. Let us promise always to come back, for the time being at least. Maybe we will find a way."

With heavy hearts they agreed that for the present they would do what Dewdrop ordered. They would bide their time as well they might and hope against hope that their luck would one day turn.

So began a harrowing time for the ten Borrible Adventurers, perhaps the worst of the whole expedition, for although many more dangers were to threaten them, never again would they feel so despondent, so small, so powerless.

Dewdrop and his son Erbie pretended to earn their living by going from street to street with a horse and cart collecting rags and bones and old iron. On the side of the cart was painted in deep red paint, "D. Bunyan and Son, Breakers and Merchants." The poor old horse who did all the work, pulling the cart up the steepest hills with the two men aboard, was called Sam.