“They’ll be here about dark, I suppose,” Ben remarked. “I’m going to watch, too.”
“Well, I think I’ll be excused,” Mundon remarked. “In my opinion, there ain’t one chance in a hundred of their catchin’ ’em.”
“Why shouldn’t they catch them if they come back here for the opium?” Ben innocently inquired.
“Why, boy, there’s more plaguey ramifications to a gang like that. From what you’ve told me, it wouldn’t surprise me to find that this man Cutter’s in it himself. Most likely every move you’ve made has ben known to ’em; and they’d hev taken the stuff away if they’d got a chance.”
All that night the Custom House men kept a watch at the Works.
Ben watched with them, looking off on the waters of the bay and listening for the dip of muffled oars. More than once he fancied he heard the smugglers approaching, and his heart beat fast as he waited to be sure before calling the men.
He felt a great distaste for his position, and correctly attributed Mundon’s refusal to join in the watch to the same reason. When morning dawned he experienced a distinct relief that nothing had occurred during the night to place him in the position of an informer.