already had my eye on her. I'd like to see you fish her out of that
hole."

But Hambleton was out of earshot and out of sight. An empty passage
smelling of bilge-water and pent-up gases opened suddenly on to the
larger dock. Damp flooring with wide cracks stretched off to the left;
on the right the solid planking terminated suddenly in huge piles,
against which the water, capped with scum and weeds, splashed fitfully.
The river bank, lined with docks, seemed lulled into temporary
quietness. Ferry-boats steamed at their labors farther up and down
the river, but the currents of travel left here and there a peaceful
quarter such as this.

Hambleton's gaze searched the dock and the river in a rapid survey.
The dock itself was dim and vast, with a few workmen looking like ants
in the distance. It offered nothing of encouragement; but on the
river, fifty yards away, and getting farther away every minute, was a
yacht's tender. The figures of the two rowers were quite distinct,
their oars making rhythmical flashes over the water, but it was
impossible to say exactly what freight, human or otherwise, it carried.
It was evident that there were people aboard, possibly several. Even
as Hambleton strained his eyes to see, the outlines of the rowboat
merged into the dimness. It was pointed like a gun toward a large
yacht lying at anchor farther out in the stream. The vessel swayed
prettily to the current, and slowly swung its dim light from the
masthead.

"They've got her--out in that boat," said Hambleton to himself,
feeling, while the words were on his lips, that he was drawing
conclusions unwarranted by the evidence. Thus he stood, one foot on