g
her cumbersome hulk. Men's voices made the night noisy, and numerous feet
scuttled to and fro over the cobbles of the dockyard to where a handful
of fishing boats were drawn up, only their masts showing above the
landing, with here and there a ghostly wraith of sail.

Cleek paused a moment, drinking in the scene with his love of beauty, and
then assumed his role of the evening. And how well he could play any role
he chose!

He cleared his throat, and addressed his companion in broad cockney.

"Gawd's truf, Sammie!" he said. "If this fair don't look like a bit of
'ome. Ain't spotted the briny for a dog's age. Let's 'ave a drink."

Someone turned at his raucous voice and looked back over the curve of a
huge shoulder. Then he went to the doorway of the little pub, and raised
a hand, with two fingers extended. Obviously it was some sort of sign,
for in an instant the noise of voices dropped, and Cleek and Dollops
slouched in and up to the crowded bar. Men made room for them on either
side, as they pushed their way in, eyeing them at first with some
suspicion, then, as they saw the familiar garments, calling out some
hoarse jest or greeting in their own lingo, to which Cleek cheerfully
responded.

A little to the right of them stood Borkins, his cap still pulled low
over his eyes, and a shabby overcoat buttoned to the neck. Cleek glanced
at him out of the tail of his eye, and then, at sight of his companion,
his mouth tightened. He'd give something to measure _that_ cur muscle for
muscle, strength for strength! The sort to steal into a man's room at
night and try to murder him! The detective planted an arm--brown and
brawny and with a tattooed serpent winding its way round the strong wrist
to the elbow (oh, wonderful make-up box!)--on the edge of the marble bar,
and called loudly for a drink. His very voice was raw and husky with a
tang of the sea in it. Dollops's nasal twang took up the story, while the
barmaid--a red-headed, fat woman with a coarse, hard face, who was
continually smiling--looked them up and down, and having taken stock of
them set two pewter tankards of frothing ale before them, took the money
from Cleek, bit it, and then with a nod dropped it into the till and came
back for a chat.

"Strangers, ain't you?" she said, pleasantly, leaning on the bar and
grinning at them.

"Yus." Cleek's voice was sharp, emphatic.

"Thought so. Sea-faring, I take it?"

"Yus," said Cleek again, and gulped down the