ir pipes at
the corners of narrow streets, now going into shady-looking public houses
by one door and coming out at another, seemed to be remarkably well
satisfied with his doings and kept remarking to his companion that they
would hear something yet. Nevertheless, by noon they had heard nothing,
and Copplestone, who considered casual search of this sort utterly
purposeless, announced that he was going to more savoury neighborhoods.

"Give it another turn, guv'nor," urged Spurge. "Have a bit o' faith in
me, now! You see, guv'nor, I've an idea, a theory, as you might term it,
of my very own, only time's too short to go into details, like. Trust me
a bit longer, guv'nor--there's a spot or two down here that I'm fair
keen on taking a look at--come on, guv'nor, once more!--this is
Scarvell's Cut."

He drew his unwilling companion round a corner of the wharf which they
were just then patrolling and showed him a narrow creek which, hemmed in
by ancient buildings, some of them half-ruinous, sail-lofts, and sheds
full of odds and ends of merchandise, cut into the land at an irregular
angle and was at that moment affording harbourage to a mass of small
vessels, just then lying high and dry on the banks from which the tide
had retreated. Along the side of this creek there was just as much
crowding and confusion as on the wider quays; men were going in and out
of the sheds and lofts; men were busy about the sides of the small craft.
And again the feeling of uselessness came over Copplestone.

"What's the good of all this, Spurge!" he exclaimed testily. "You'll
never--"

Spurge suddenly laid a grip on his companion's elbow and twisted him
aside into a narrow entry between the sheds.

"That's the good!" he answered in an exulting voice. "Look there,
guv'nor! Look at that North Sea tug--that one, lying out there! Whose
face is, now a-peeping out o' that hatch? Come, now?"

Copplestone looked in the direction which Spurge indicated. There, lying
moored to the wharf, at a point exactly opposite a tumble-down sail-loft,
was one of those strongly-built tugs which ply between the fishing fleets
and the ports. It was an eminently business-looking craft, rakish for its
class, and it bore marks of much recent sea usage. But Copplestone gave
no more than a passing glance at it--what attracted and fascinated his
eyes was the face of a man who had come up from her depths and was
looking out of a hatchway on the top deck--looking expectant