and dirty hand upon the table.

"Last night I see murder done, an' only that I know they wouldn't
believe me, I'd walk across to Limehouse P'lice Station presently and
put the splits on 'em, I would."

Harley, who was seated behind the speaker, glanced at me significantly.

"Sure you wasn't dreamin'?" he inquired facetiously.

"Dreamin'!" cried the man. "Dreams don't leave no blood be'ind, do
they?"

"Blood!" I exclaimed.

"That's wot I said--blood! When I woke up this mornin' there was blood
all on that grinnin' joss--the blood wot 'ad dripped from 'er shoulders
when she fell."

"Eh!" said Harley. "Blood on whose shoulders? Wot the 'ell are you
talkin' about, old son?"

"Ere"--the fireman turned in his chair and grasped Harley by the
arm--"listen to me, and I'll tell you somethink, I will. I'm goin' in
the Seahawk in the mornin' see? But if you want to know somethink, I'll
tell yer. Drunk or sober I bars the blasted p'lice, but if you like
to tell 'em I'll put you on somethink worth tellin'. Sure the bottle's
empty, mates?"

I caught Harley's glance and divided the remainder of the whisky evenly
between the three glasses.

"Good 'ealth," said the fireman, and disposed of his share at a draught.
"That's bucked me up wonderful."

He lay back in his chair and from a little tobacco-box began to fill a
short clay pipe.

"Look 'ere, mates, I'm soberin' up, like, after the smoke, an' I can
see, I can see plain, as nobody'll ever believe me. Nobody ever does,
worse luck, but 'ere goes. Pass the matches."

He lighted his pipe, and looking about him in a sort of vaguely
aggressive way:

"Last night," he resumed, "after I was chucked out of the Dock Gates, I
made up my mind to go and smoke a pipe with old Ma Lorenzo. Round I goes
to Pennyfields, and she don't seem glad to see me. There's nobody
there only me. Not like the old days when you 'ad to book your seat in
advance."

He laughed gruffly.

"She didn't want to let me in at first, said they was watched, that if
a Chink 'ad an old pipe wot 'ad b'longed to 'is grandfather it was good
enough to get 'im fined fifty quid. Anyway, me bein' an old friend she
spread a mat for me and filled me a pipe. I asked after old Kwen Lung,
but, of course, 'e was out gamblin', as usual; so after old Ma Lorenzo
'ad made me comfortable an' gone out I 'ad the place to myself, and
presently I dozed off and forgot all about bloody ship's bunkers an'
nigger-drivin' Scotchmen."