"Look at him! Look at his face! Who is he?" whispered she, with trembling lips.
Max looked, putting his hand under the head and lifting it out of the water.
Then, with a great shout, he tore at the body, clutching it, trying to drag it into the boat.
"Great Heaven! It's Dudley!"
CHAPTER XXI.
A DUBIOUS REFUGE.
The night was clammy and cold. The fog was growing thicker, blacker. And the water of the Thames, as Max plunged his hand into it, struggling to raise the body of his friend, was ice-cold to the touch.
Carrie had seized her oar again, and was bringing the boat's head rapidly round, right under the stern of a barge which was moored close to Plumtree Wharf.
"Hold him; don't let him go!" cried she imperiously. "But don't try to drag him into the boat until I get her alongside. You can't do it without help. And if you could you'd pull the boat over."