Here he appeared for a moment to be wrapped in deep thought, and checked
with his cigar an attempt to interrupt him.

"However you put it, old man," he said at last, "we're all in a pretty
bad hole."

"All!" cried Mr. Trevor, indignantly.

"Yes, all," asserted Mr. Cooke, with composure. "There are the police,
and here is Allen as good as run down. If they find him when they get
abroad, you don't suppose they'll swallow anything you have to say about
trying to deliver him over. No, sir, you'll be bagged and fined along
with the rest of us. And I'd be damned sorry to see it, if I do say it;
and I blame myself freely for it, old man. Now you take my advice and
keep your mouth shut, and I'll take care of you. I've got a place for
Allen."

During this somewhat remarkable speech Mr. Trevor, as it were, blew hot
and cold by turns. Although its delivery was inconsiderate, its logic
was undeniable, and the senator sat down again on the locker, and was
silent. But I marked that off and on his fingers would open and shut
convulsively.

Time alone would disclose what was to happen to us; in the interval there
was nothing to do but wait. We had reached the stage where anxiety
begins to take the place of excitement, and we shifted restlessly from
spot to spot and looked at the tug. She was ploughing along after us,
and to such good purpose that presently I began to catch the white of the
seas along her bows, and the bright red with which her pipe was tipped.
Farrar alone seemed to take but slight interest in her. More than once I