The man's voice took Mr. Gavel somewhat aback. It did not resemble an ordinary bargee's. But at the moment he could no more check the explosion of his wrath than you can hold back a cork in the act of popping from a bottle of soda-water.
"Curse your laziness!" exploded Mr. Gavel; "and this is your notion of searching for me, is it?"
"It appears to be a pretty successful one," said Dr. Glasson. "I've discovered you, anyhow; and now I suggest to you that swearing won't help the reckoning between us."
"Oh, stow your fine talk! I've heard of sea-lawyers, and I suppose you're a canal specimen. Carriage was paid at the other end, and you know it. I catch you here loafing, and I'm going to dispute the bill— which means that you'll get the sack, my friend, whether I recover the money or no. Pounds out of pocket I am by this, not to speak of reputation. Where are they? Where have you put 'em?"
"That's what I'll trouble you to answer, sir."
"My hosses! . . . You don't mean to tell me—" Mr. Gavel smote his brow.
"But you said just now you were looking for me!" he cried.
"You act well, sir," said Dr. Glasson sternly. "It is your profession. But, as it happens, I have made inquiries along the canal, and am proof against your bluster. A boat, the Success to Commerce—a bargeman in a furred overcoat—the combination is unusual, and not (I put it to you) likely to be repeated on this short stretch of waterway. Confess, Mr.— confess, sir, your game is up. Kidnapping is an ugly offence in this country, and, in short, I advise you without more ado to hand over the two children."
Mr. Gavel leaned back against a crane for support.
"Children? What children?" he repeated, staring.
Clearly here was some hideous blunder, and he perceived at length that the person addressing him in no way resembled a bargee.