dirty work for the boss; but 'is real name's Dobbs. And if you takes
my word for anything, pal, you won't go rubbin' 'im up the wrong way.
'E's a fair devil!"

H'm! "Dirty Jim," otherwise Jim Dobbs. And he was in the employment of
this very extraordinary firm for the purpose of doing its "dirty work."
Well, there seemed a good deal of employment for him, if that was the
case. And Borkins was _not_ Borkins in this part of the world.

Cleek stepped back to his work a little thoughtful, a little
absent-minded, until the frown upon his forehead caused Dollops
to lean over and whisper anxiously, "Nothin' the matter, is there, sir?"

He shook his head rapidly.

"No, boy, no. Simply thinking, and smelling a rat somewhere."

"Been smellin' of it meself this parst two hours," returned Dollops in
a sibilant whisper. His eye shone for a moment with the light of battle.
"Got summink ter tell you," he whispered under cover of the noise.
"Summink wot ought ter interest yer, I don't fink. 'Ave ter keep till
evenin'. Eh, Bill?"

"Right you are, matey." Cleek's voice rose loudly as the overseer passed,
pausing a moment to watch them at work. "Nice job this, I must sy. Arfter
me own 'eart, strite it is. Soon catch on to it, don't yer?"

"_Ra-ther!_" returned Dollops significantly.

The overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on.

CHAPTER XXIII

PRISONERS

It was not until the evening was fairly far advanced that the opportunity
of speaking to Dollops alone was afforded Cleek. He took it when the "Pig
and Whistle" was filled to overflowing, and hardly a man who worked at
the factory was not inside it or standing outside near the little quay,
holding the usual evening's confab on the affairs of the day. Cleek
caught hold of Dollops as he was making his way into the little bar.

"Come fer a turn up the road, matey," he said loudly. "It's a fine
evenin' wot mykes yer 'omesick fer a sight uf yer own fireside. 'Ave
another drink later, mebbe. Come on."

Dollops linked arms with him, and, smoking and talking, the two men went
off up the dark lane which led from the quayside, and of a night-time was
as black as a pocket. Cleek's torch showed them the pathway, and as they
walked they talked in rapid whispers.

"Now, lad, let's hear all you've got to say!" he rapped out at length, as
the distance grew between themselves and the crowded little pub, and they
were safely out of earshot.

Dollops gulped with pent-up e