In consideration of the fact, which I have now prov’d beyond question, that no part of the Triangular Trade works as it is supposed to-viz. Civilization not reaching Africa, Slaves not reaching America, and Assiento money not reaching Your Britannick Majesty’s coffers-I propose we denominate it a fail’d Adventure, and bring it to an End immediately.

I have the honour to be,

Your Britannick Majesty’s Humble Servant,

though not [yet anyway] her obedient Slave,

Daniel looked up with a bright expression on his face, and was about to begin reading the libel aloud, when he was frozen by a cobra-like glare from Mr. Threader. “Tomorrow I shall supply this room with a copy of the King James Version,” Threader announced, “so that Dr. Waterhouse may follow the fine example set by his co-religionist” (flicking his eyes at Orney) “and advance from Libels, to Bibles.”

Daniel set the leaf down and gazed out the window for a time. After several minutes had gone by, his eyes were drawn to a tiny movement in the front of the Tatler-Lock. Something had changed in one of the upper windows. He rose slowly to his feet, not daring to take his eyes off of it; for so vast and various was the prospect of London, the Pool, and the Borough from these windows, that this iota was as easy to lose as a single bubble on a stormy sea. To get the perspective-glass extended, aimed, and focused took entirely too long. Nevertheless he was able to get a clear view of a window, mostly veiled behind canvas, but with a human arm, seemingly disembodied, projecting across the front of it and gathering it out of the way (he supposed) so that some light might spill into the room behind. The arm was attached, in the customary manner, to a man, who was standing in the room with his back to the curtain and had hooked his elbow round the edge of the canvas to pull it aside. Presently that man let his hand drop. His arm vanished as the curtain tumbled back to block the whole aperture of the window. At this moment, many a chap would have glanced away to say something to the others, and thereby lost track of which window he’d been gazing at; but Daniel, out of a mental discipline earned fifty years ago, remained still until he had memorized certain peculiarities of the Window in Question: the way a seam in the canvas angled across the upper right corner, and a pair of bricks in the sill that were not as dark as the rest. Only then did he begin to swing the telescope laterally, causing the image to sweep at greatly amplified speed. He counted the windows to the edge of the building-three-then reversed the movement and made sure he could find the Window in Question again. Only then did he withdraw his eye from the lens and announce to the others that he had seen something.

Partry was back half an hour later, and Saturn came in ten minutes after that. It had been their policy for Partry to go alone, and for Saturn to amble along some distance behind him to see if Partry was being followed-which was much more likely to happen on the return leg of the expedition. So Saturn had found a gin-house across the way from the Tatler-Lock and had tarried there until some minutes after Partry had quit the place. Partry, he reported, had indeed been followed up the Bridge by a pair of young culls; but it was Saturn’s professional opinion that these were not spies of Jack’s or Mr. Knockmealdown’s, but merely a couple of enterprising young file-clys who, having consummated one transaction at the Tatler-Lock, were sizing up Sean Partry as a prospective next victim. Saturn knew the lads, and was known by them, because of certain past professional entanglements on which he was not keen to elaborate before the Clubb. Approaching them as if by happenstance on the Bridge, Saturn had remarked on the fact that none other than Sean Partry, the infamous thief-taker, had just gone into the Main-Topp, wearing thus-and-such. This had sent the boys off in quest of less dangerous prey.

Partry then told the tale-which was brief, as little had happened-of his visit to the Tatler-Lock. There was a sort of lobby, where refreshments could be got, and where (he speculated) loitering visitors were spied on through holes in the paneling. After having stated his business, and having waited for some time, he had been summoned by one “Roger Rodgers,” a minion of Mr. Knockmealdown’s, who had explained that the master of the establishment was downriver at one of his other factories, but that he had left standing orders as to how situations like this one were to be handled-orders that Rodgers had been at pains to carry out. But something in the way he did so gave Partry the idea that this was the first time any house-breaker had ever come in to the Tatler-Lock claiming to have the sort of goods called for in the general summons posted, so many weeks ago, by Jack. There was mounting confusion, leading to low comedy, as Rodgers led Partry from room to room trying to find a suitable place in which to conduct the Arabian auction. Here they stumbled upon a Pharaohanic hoard of stolen watches, there upon a whore dividing her attentions among three eleven-year-old pick-pockets, all addled with gin. Partry had begun to think aloud: a room with some light would enable the buyer better to appraise the proffered swag. A place in the back-towards the river-front-would afford more privacy. Something above street level were less tempting to the depredations of running-smoblers. By offering up such reflections just at those moments when Rodgers seemed most confused, Partry had insensibly driven and steered him to an upper room above the river, and even induced Rodgers to draw back the canvas hanging in front of its window-which he’d hoped would be noticed by one of the Clubb from their blind in the Main-Topp, as it had been.

So the first bid in the Arabian auction had been placed, and all had gone by plan. The Clubb’s deliberations now became radically tedious. This was a favorable omen, as this was the sort of tedium that men like Threader and Waterhouse excelled at, and profited from. The Stake-out ought to be maintained around the clock henceforth. Saturn volunteered to sleep here every night; this made the deliberations briefer than they might have been, and freed Saturn to bid them all good-bye and duck out. A schedule was drawn up whereby Orney, Kikin, Threader, and Waterhouse would take turns keeping an eye on the Tatler-Lock during the hours Saturn was not there. Some gaps remained in the schedule; it was hoped these might be plugged by Newton or even Arlanc. Partry was to stop by the Tatler-Lock once or twice a day to see if the buyer had placed a bid yet, then, after dodging round a bit to make sure he was not followed, come to the Main-Topp to report to whomever was on watch there. That person would make an entry in a log-book so that other members of the Clubb would know what had been going on.

THE PROGRESS OF THE STAKE-OUT, though it extended across never so many hours and days, could thenceforth be known by a few moments’ study of the Log. The first entry was dated 12 July, and merely recounted what had just happened. It was written out by Daniel, who took the first watch, between the time that the rest of the Clubb departed and the time that Saturn returned, shoving a bed-roll up the stairs before him.