"Yes, but he escaped us somehow. I wish we had cut the skunk's damned throat for him. Directly the affair is blown, he'll know who did it, and he'll split upon us to a certainty."
A dark look came into Jim Pizey's face as he said this.
"I'd think no more of squeezing the life out of him who'd split than I would of--" he finished the sentence by knocking the ashes out of his pipe in a significant manner. "Out of him especially," he continued, taking a letter from his pocket, and reading part of it; "I've a score of my own to settle with him. I couldn't make out at first what made Milly, turn informer against us; but I know now how it was. Dick Handfield's white-faced wife got hold of and frightened her. I didn't think Milly would do it, though, for I liked the girl, and I thought she liked me. There's the baby, too. It's a pity for that! If the Oysterman succeeds in what he is trying, I'll write to Old Flick telling him how we're getting along."
At this moment, the man at the door, who had been addressed as Ralph, turned his head, and said, "Hush! some one coming."
Not a word was spoken in reply, but each man grasped his weapon, and assumed an attitude of watchfulness.
"All right," presently said the sentinel. "It's the Tenderhearted Oysterman."
And in walked, whistling, Honest Steve!
He nodded to his comrades, and, seating himself upon a stretcher, took out his pipe. Having slowly filled it, and lighted it, he said,
"Well, Jim, how is it getting on?"
"How do I know?" returned Jim Pizey. "We're waiting for you to tell us that. Here we are, hanging about for you, and, for all I know, wasting our time to no purpose."