Family Business, 7. In an English Churchyard

Scruff watched helplessly as I was dragged away. I was glad that the Peroxide Peril had not heard me call Scruff my sister, and apparently the crooks hadn't connected my words with what the Peroxide Peril had said.
The men pulled me into the street, a gun pressed to my back.
"One squeak out of you, girlie, and you'll get it in the back. And THIS time the gun's silenced."
I nodded.
"And if someone sees me in this get-up?"
"We'll think of something."
I felt him pull the tail of my suit, keeping me on a short leash, as it were.

They took me down Church Row, a beautiful street of Georgian houses that led down to the parish church, built in the 18th century and dedicated to St. John. Which St. John no-one knew until 1917 when the then Bishop of London said it was St. John the Evangelist, thus ending over a century and a half of ambiguity. Much altered since it was originally built (in fact completely turned around internally), it is an imposing structure, surrounded by a rather overgrown graveyard.
Perfect for murdering me in. I looked up at the church's tall tower, topped by a small copper spire. I had to do something, otherwise I'd end up dead. If only the man would remove the gun from my back.
I heard the men open the iron gates of the churchyard. I was pushed inside.
"Not far now, girlie."
I was hustled into the churchyard, around the north side of the Church. There was a high wall on one side and overgrown trees all around the gravestones and monuments. No-one would see.
"And when they find my body?"
"No-one will know who killed you. Kneel down."
I knelt. There was really nothing else I could do.
Suddenly a strange voice broke in on the scene of intended murder.
"'Ave yer got anyfing ter drink?"
The speaker was an odiferous old tramp. My would-be killers turned to get rid of him.
I saw my chance. In a flash I was on my feet. Two kicks sent the gunmen sprawling in the dirt under the trees. Two more kicks sent their guns flying away, across the churchyard, into a rabbit hole.
And then, with a mocking laugh, I was gone, taking a flying leap over the churchyard wall.
What I had not ralised was that the drop on the other side was somewhat greater than the height of the wall on my side. Desperately I pulled out my whip and caught the branch of a tree.
I swung safely to the ground on the other side. A well-kept lawn.
Then I heard two yells of fear behind me and two loud thuds as my would-be killers tried to follow me over the wall.
I left them for the owner of the house to find and ran off to try to rescue Scruff.