And down there was the smell of tar and of
merchandise, and narrow alleys full of sea-going men and raucous-voiced
women, and queer nooks and corners, and ships being laden and ships
being stripped of their cargoes and such noise and confusion and
inextricable mingling and elbowing that Copplestone thought it was as
likely to find a needle in a haystack as to make anything out relating
to the quest they were engaged in.
But Zachary Spurge, leading him in and out of the throngs on the wharves,
now taking a look into a dock, now inspecting a quay, now stopping to
exchange a word or two with taciturn gentlemen who sucked their pipes at
the corners of narrow streets, now going into shady-looking public houses
by one door and coming out at another, seemed to be remarkably well
satisfied with his doings and kept remarking to his companion that they
would hear something yet. Nevertheless, by noon they had heard nothing,
and Copplestone, who considered casual search of this sort utterly
purposeless, announced that he was going to more savoury neighborhoods.
"Give it another turn, guv'nor," urged Spurge. "Have a bit o' faith in
me, now! You see, guv'nor, I've an idea, a theory, as you might term it,
of my very own, only time's too short to go into details, like. Trust me
a bit longer, guv'nor--there's a spot or two down here that I'm fair
keen on taking a look at--come on, guv'nor, once more!--this is
Scarvell's Cut.
Pages:
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281