Basin, a distance of a mile and a half. It was about eleven o'clock and
a fine night. The docks road, a thoroughfare cut up by railway lines
holding long rows of empty wagons, seemed to be quite deserted. Tagg,
who was slightly lame, though active as a cat on board ship, was not
able to walk fast. The two discussed the performance, and other matters
of slight interest, and they paid little heed to the movements of half
a dozen men, who appeared from behind some coal trucks, until the
strangers advanced towards them in a furtive and threatening way. But
nothing happened. The prowlers sheered off as quickly as they came.
Tagg, who had the courage which Providence sends to puny men, glanced
up at Royson and laughed.

"Your size saved us from a fight," he said. "That gang is up to
mischief."

"I wonder what they are planning," said Royson, looking back to see if
he could distinguish any other wayfarers on the ill-lighted road.

"Robbery, with murder thrown in," was Tagg's brief comment.

"They had the air of expecting somebody. Did you think that? What do
you say if we wait in the shadow a few minutes?"

"Better mind our own business," said Tagg, but he did not protest
further, and the two halted in the gloom of a huge warehouse.

There was nothing visible along the straight vista of the road, but,
after a few seconds' silence, they heard the clatter and rumble of a
vehicle crossing a distant drawbridge.