"That's right enough--comparatively speaking," said one. "But if they're
in the Warren we shall get 'em out. The first thing to do, gentlemen, is
to take a look at that tug."
"Exactly!" exclaimed Sir Cresswell. "Just what I was thinking. Let us
find out what its people have to say."
The man who smoked his pipe in placid contentment on the deck of the tug
looked up in astonishment as the posse of eight crossed the plank which
connected him with the quay. Nevertheless he preserved an undaunted
front, kept his pipe in his tightly closed lips, and cocked a defiant eye
at everybody.
"Skipper o' this craft?" asked the principal detective laconically.
"Right? Where are you from, then, and when did you come in here?"
The skipper removed his pipe and spat over the rail. He put the pipe
back, folded his arms and glared.
"And what the dickens may that be to do with you?" he inquired. "And who
may you be to walk aboard my vessel without leave?"
"None of that, now!" said the detective. "Come on--we're police officers.
There's something wrong round here. We've got warrants for two men that
we believe to have been on your tug--one of 'em was seen here not so many
minutes ago. You'd far better tell us what you know. If you don't tell
now, you'll have to tell later. And--I expect you've been paid already.
Come on--out with it!"
The skipper, whose gnarled countenance had undergone several changes
during this address, smote one red fist on top of the other.
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