The Inspector glanced at the clock.
“Then we’ve got to make tracks,” he declared, “and pretty quick, too. She’ll be starting from somewhere about Number Twenty-eight dock, a long way down. Come along, gentlemen.”
They hurried out to the automobile and started off for the docks. The latter part of their journey was accomplished under difficulties, for the street was packed with drays and heavy vehicles. They reached dock Number Twenty-eight at last, however, and hurried through the shed on to the wharf. There were no signs of a steamer there.
“Where’s the Durham?” Quest asked one of the carters, who was just getting his team together.
The man pointed out to the middle of the river, where a small steamer was lying.
“There she is,” he replied. “She’ll be off in a few minutes. You’ll hear the sirens directly, when they begin to move down.”
Quest led the way quickly to the edge of the wharf. There was a small tug there, the crew of which were just making her fast for the night.
“Fifty dollars if you’ll take us out to the Durham and catch her before she sails,” Quest shouted to the man who seemed to be the captain. “What do you say?”
The man spat out a plug of tobacco from his mouth.
“I’d take you to hell for fifty dollars,” he answered tersely. “Step in. We’ll make it, if you look quick.”