nes, that descended
empty into the bellies of ships and came up full. As the two watermen
gingerly manoeuvred the boat on the ebbing tide, Hazell explained to the
millionaire that the 'Squirm' was one of the most notorious craft on the
river. It appeared that when anyone had a nefarious or underhand
scheme afoot which necessitated river work Everett's launch was always
available for a suitable monetary consideration. The 'Squirm' had got
itself into a thousand scrapes, and out of those scrapes again with
safety, if not precisely with honour. The river police kept a watchful
eye on it, and the chief marvel about the whole thing was that old
Everett, the owner, had never yet been seriously compromised in any
illegal escapade. Not once had the officer of the law been able to prove
anything definite against the proprietor of the 'Squirm', though
several of its quondam hirers were at that very moment in various of Her
Majesty's prisons throughout the country. Latterly, however, the launch,
with its damaged propeller, which Everett consistently refused to have
repaired, had acquired an evil reputation, even among evil-doers,
and this fraternity had gradually come to abandon it for less easily
recognizable craft.

'Your friend, Mr Tom Jackson,' said Hazell to Racksole, 'committed
an error of discretion when he hired the "Squirm". A scoundrel of his
experience and calibre ought certainly to have known better than that.
You cannot fail to get a clue now.'

By this time the boat was approaching Cherry Gardens Pier, but
unfortunately a thin night-fog had swept over the river, and objects
could not be discerned with any clearness beyond a distance of thirty
yards. As the Customs boat scraped down past the pier all its occupants
strained eyes for a glimpse of the mysterious launch, but nothing could
be seen of it. The boat continued to float idly down-stream, the men
resting on their oars.

Then they narrowly escaped bumping a large Norwegian sailing vessel at
anchor with her stem pointing down-stream. This ship they passed on the
port side. Just as they got clear of her bowsprit the fat man cried out
excitedly, 'There's her nose!' and he put the boat about and began
to pull back against the tide. And surely the missing 'Squirm' was
comfortably anchored on the starboard quarter of the Norwegian ship,
hidden neatly between the ship and the shore. The men pulled very
quietly alongside.

Chapter Twenty-Six THE NIGHT CHASE AN