"It's allus of a Wennersday 'e maks 'is way afoot, don't tak 'is carridge, so even 'is driver don't know where 'e goes, but!" the snout paused for effect, but on receiving a glare from his employer, continued: "it jest so 'appens 'e likes a saunter roun' Summerset 'ouse – yer knows the kind o doxies plies there trade there, sir?" and his employer nodded, he knew well the particular speciality of that infamous location: "wolves in sheep's clothing," he mused; he liked it, another travesty, another person dressed in the apparel of the opposite sex would not be noticed amiss in such a gathering, and he knew just which gowns he would wear, which shoes and stockings, which wig and hat and which dagger he could easily secrete about his person: "you have done well, Bill, I shall defer slitting him from gizzard to navel till then" he said, placing a purse on the rough table, knowing that no amount of folding stuff – Promissory Notes – would equate in his employees mind to the weight of coin, "and there is one other piece of information I require of you: "the papers that pair of scoundrels took to the Magistrate," he could not bring himself to utter the other's name: 'I want them, can you do that?" and Bill thought for a moment: "if I can get my hands inside the maid's dress, no problem; she's a pretty lass an' 'e don't give her much reward, so gimme a night or two, sir, an' they'll be yourn, both Sir Geoffrey an' the peppers!" at which, with no segue, or transition from one state to another, his employer punched him hard on the nose, causing him to sit down hard on the floor with a yelp: "wossat fer, boss? wassup!" and he received a kick to the ribs as the man who leaned over him snarled: "are you deaf, dumb and blind? the man I'm after is named Godfrey! Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey! who is this Geoffrey character you speak of? are you as much of a dolt as you look?" and the man on the floor was genuinely terrified, his Master had killed on less provocation, but his memory came to his aid and he was obsequiously deferential when he spoke:: "forgive me Master for fergettin this, pray, an' God Bless Yer, it was the one they call Porridge, he kept callin' the Magistrate Geoffrey, maybe he carn't read, or maybe 'is eyesight is poor and the name on the board outside: 'Godfrey Brothers, Coal Merchants by Royal Appointment to His Majesty King Charles II' warn't clear to his eyes – it was a rather floral script – an 'e read it as Geoffrey, that must be it, cos wen they was at the Inn, 'e kept referrin' to the subject as Coalman or Geoffrey, Sir Magistrate or Sir Geoffrey, yer it was 'im, Oates!" and his Master poured a goblet of wine for both of them, indicating that his servant could stand up from his crouching position: "let us drink, Bill, my fine boy, to the strolling players of Somerset House, for I wot they will not have seen such a femme incomprise before as they shall next Wednesday, but before then, get yourself into the drawers of Godfrey's servant wench, find out where he secretes his papers, it will not be in the House, nor in his Chambers, where his brother might access them, he will have some other place which he may use without inviting suspicion, if the girl does not know, make her find out, understood?" and Bill nodded, rather delighted with the opportunity to seduce the Magistrates wench, but hoping it would not be necessary to kill her soon, he rather fancied a long relationship, at least a month would suit his fancy.