"Where's Mr. Jerrold?" he demanded of the man at the wheel.
"Who's he?" was the gruff response.
"Come, you know who he is well enough. He's the man who's borrowed or hired this craft, and he got on board just now. I want to speak to him. If he has ordered you to follow us, let me tell you that I am a police officer, and shall be justified in arresting you for obstructing me in the execution of my duty if you are not careful."
"Hello, Mr. Green. Threatening the skipper?
What's wrong?" said the equable voice of Jerrold, emerging with cigarette between his teeth through the sliding door of the saloon.
The detective swung round upon him angrily. "This isn't the game, Mr. Jerrold. We can't have you following us like this."
The journalist gave a shrug. "Really? Do you object to me having a blow on the river? Because I'm going on, in any case. I can't help it if you're going the same way."
Green was helpless, and he knew it. Although he raged inwardly, he knew that it would be unwise to arrest the journalist, though such a course might be justified. Apart from the bad feeling such procedure might create, there was the difficulty of establishing a case without disclosing the object of their journey. It was a dilemma where diplomacy might with advantage be employed. He smiled at the reporter.
"Mr. Jerrold, can't we settle this without quarrelling? We're on a queer job, and you might spoil it all by hanging around. Leave us to it, and if there's anything fit for publication you shall have first pull. Don't ask me anything else and I'll promise you that."
"Honour?" queried Jerrold.