Occasionally he relit his pipe. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker.
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