low to give any credit to a story brought
him by a wharf-rat. And then, they were not the best of friends.
Chippy now entertained the most respectful regard for
police-constables, for it was part of his duty; but it had not always
been so. In his days of sin, before he became a boy scout, he had
guyed and chaffed Martin many a time and oft, and had exercised a
diabolical ingenuity in tricks for his discomfiture. Therefore a
sudden appearance, springing out of the darkness as a supporter of law
and order, might not be taken as it was meant, and Chippy was quite
shrewd enough to see that.

And Chippy was puzzled--he was tremendously puzzled. For the life of
him, he could not see how two men in a boat were going to successfully
attack the river-front of Elliotts' warehouse, and he burned to
discover their plan of assault. He shut his eyes, and saw clearly a
mental picture of the building. Chippy knew the riverside look of
every building as well as he knew the back of his hand; he had spent
scores and scores of summer days floating about in anything he could
seize upon in the shape of a boat.

Well, he saw a broad, high wall, perfectly flat, turning a gable end to
the wide stream, and in that wall he saw a number of windows and one
large doorway, above which an arm carrying pulleys was thrust out.
Under this doorway barges came when the tide was up, and sank to the
mud when it went down. Boxes, bags, bales, were swung up to the
doorway by pulley and chain, and so taken into the warehouse. But
there was no landing-place of any kind; the wall ran sheer down to the
mud.

Now, how were these men going to break in? And at low water, too!
Fifteen feet at least of oozy, slimy wall would stand up between the
boat and the foot of the doorway; twenty feet to the nearest row of
windows. Chippy could not form any idea of their tactics, but he meant
to discover them before long.

'Well, I got to move a bit,' said the scout to himself. 'I'll 'ook it
down to Ferryman's, and get ready for 'em.'

Still on his bare feet, he slid like a shadow through the darkness,
counted the mooring-posts as he went, in order to get his bearings,
found the head of the steps running down to the spot he sought, and at
the next instant his feet were treading the rough stones of Ferryman's
Slip.

Here close beside the water it was not quite so dark; the heavy clouds
had broken in the west, and the stars were coming out. In their faint
gleam