"Ah! Two on 'em--both done up in what
you might call deep-sea-style. But hadn't never done no deep-sea nor yet
any other sort o' sea work in their mortial days--hands as white and soft
as a lady's. One, an old chap with a dial like a full moon on him--sly
old chap, him! T'other a younger man, looked as if he'd something about
him--dangerous chap to cross. Where are they? Darned if I know. What I
knows, certain, is this--we gets in here about eight o'clock this
morning, and makes fast here, and ever since then them two's been as it
were on the fret and the fidge, allers lookin' out, so to speak, for
summun as ain't come yet. The old chap, he went across into that there
sail-maker's loft an hour ago, and t'other, he followed of him, recent. I
ain't seen 'em since. Try there. And I say?"
"Well?" asked the detective.
"Shall I be wanted?" asked the skipper. "'Cause if not, I'm off and away
as soon as the tide serves. Ain't no good me waitin' here for them chaps
if you're goin' to take and hang 'em!"
"Got to catch 'em first," said the detective, with a glance at his two
professional companions. "And while we're not doubting your word at all,
we'll just take a look round your vessel--they might have slipped on
board again, you see, while your back was turned."
But there was no sign of Peter Chatfield, nor of his daughter, nor of the
captain of the _Pike_ on that tug, nor anywhere in the sailmaker's loft
and its purlieus.
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