[Namur's head snaps to the direction the roar came from as it passes. In the uneasy quiet afterward, he he stares at Davies, then makes his decision.]

Smellin' fishier'n me, Davey-boy. Lot y' ain't tellin' us. Figure it out later, though.

[He takes the man's precious satchel in one hand, and a fistful of the man's shirt in the other, hefting both out of the coffin with little effort.]

Maria, get 'im good 'nuff t' stay on his feet an' check 'im for knives an' shit. Take 'im with us, for now.

[Namur slings the satchel over his shoulder. If Davies wants to run away he'll have to abandon it and whatever little treasures he has tucked inside.]