“Oh, well, I don't deny that. All the same, I'm not Red Rob.”
“Who are you, then?”
“I'm myself. Who're you?” Another oath from the men in the water. “Stand up, Rob,” ordered Nick.
“This is Red Rob, not I,” he continued. “I'm from another town where they know how to down the cops every time. If you ever get word from old 'Philly' to look out fur Sneaker, jest tell 'em he's the chap w'at dumped ye into the wet, will you ? So long, boys; better luck next time.”
With a laugh, Nick gave the signal to his two friends, and the boat shot away in the darkness.
Nick would not have left the police in their uncomfortable plight, but he felt certain that they were men of sufficient experience to get out of it all right, and the reader may as well know at once that he was not mistaken.
The boat containing the two detectives and the king of the wharf rats was rowed at once back to the pier from which it had started.
“Here we are,” exclaimed the detective. “Now, Red Rob, show your hand.”
What d'ye mean, Sneaker?”
“We're in the same biz, ain't we?”