“I beg your pardon, sir. You have been conducting a raid down here?”
The inspector would have smiled if his bruised face had allowed him.
“I fancy the raid has been rather the other way about,” he said ruefully. “We have been trying to make some discoveries about the Yellow Gang, laying a trap for the Yellow Dog, but unluckily we fell into the trap ourselves, as you see. Now, will you give me a bit of paper, officer. I want to take the bearings of this place. It is evidently one of the outlets of the Yellow Gang.”
He looked across; on that side for quite a considerable distance the buildings abutted right on to the river. Farther along there appeared to be small boat-building plants, but just here there seemed to be only tall warehouses, and in almost every case the doors and windows were barred. Look as they would neither Steadman nor the inspector could identify the building from which they had sprung, and curiously enough no one in the boat had seen them until they were in the water. Some little time was spent in making fruitless inquiries of the small craft at hand. Though it would seem impossible that their plunge had been absolutely unseen, yet to discover any witnesses would evidently be a work of time and time was just then particularly precious to the inspector. Giving the search up as useless he had the boat rowed back to the police launch. Distinct as the C.I.D. is from the River Police, the different branches of the service are frequently brought into contact. Inspector Furnival found friends on the motor-launch at once, and he and Steadman were soon supplied with clothes and everything they needed. Then, declining the police officer's offer of rest, the inspector asked to be put on land. It was still dark but for the moonlight, but their various adventures had taken time. It was later than the inspector thought, and all along the river bank the various activities were awaking.
The inspector chartered a taxi; when they were both inside he turned to Steadman.
“I believe I owe you my life, Mr. Steadman. But I think I shall have to defer my thanks until—I am out to catch the Yellow Dog and I mean to have another try this morning before he has had time to get away.”
“I am with you,” John Steadman said heartily. “And as for thanks, inspector, why, when we have caught the Yellow Dog we will thank one another.”
The inspector had directed their taxi to drive to Scotland Yard, but half-way there he changed his mind and told the man to drive to the scene of their late experience.
They got out as nearly as possible at the same place, but from there the inspector only went a little distance before he blew his whistle. It was answered by another and a couple of men in plain clothes appeared.
“Ah, Murphy, Jackson,” said the inspector. “Well, what news?”