"That's easy," returned Bones.
And he gave it a shove that sent it splashing into the water off the wharf's end.
"No incriminatin' evidence or what the lawyer sharks calls clues," remarked Silver. "A good job well done, Bill, if you asks me."
He lowered himself to a seat upon the stringpiece of the wharf, dropped the butt of his crutch to the forward thwart, felt about with his one leg and came to rest in front of Peter and me. The crutch he allowed to slip to the bottom of the boat, and in its place he took an oar. Bill Bones found a seat in the stern sheets.
"All clear," muttered Bill. "Give way."
The oars fended off from the wharf, and the boat crept out into the stream, where it felt the full strength of the tide, just beginning to turn. The bow bounced up as the first wave hit it, and Peter, beneath me, emitted a dismal groan through his gag. Silver, bending diligently to his oar, looked over his shoulder.
"You would come, messmate," he said. "'Tis nobody's fault but your own."
Peter gave a convulsive wiggle which almost knocked me out of the boat.
"Here, here," admonished Silver. "That's no way to act. D'ye want to drown us all?"
Another groan from Peter, and he lay still.