“I see,” said Blood. “We’re to scupper Ginnell and take the boat—and how about the penitentiary?”
“I’m blest if you haven’t got penitentiaries on the brain,” said Harman. “If you leave this thing to me, I’ll fix it so that there’ll be no penitentiaries in the business. Of course if we were to go into such a fool’s job as you’re thinkin’ about, we’d lay ourselves under the law right smart. No, the game I’m after is deeper than that, and it’s Ginnell I’m goin’ to lay under the law. Now I’ve got to run about and do things an’ see people. I’ll leave you here, and here’s a quarter, and don’t you spend it till the time comes. Now you listen to me. Wait about till haff past three, and at haff past three punctual you turn into the Fore and Aft and walk up to the bar and lay your quarter down and call for a drink. You’ll see me there, and if I nod to you, you just nod to me. Then I’ll have a word in private with you.”
“Is that all?” said the Captain.
“That’s all for the present,” said Harman, rising up. “You’ll be there?”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” said Blood, “though I’m blest if I can see your meaning.”
“You will soon,” replied the other, and, paying the score, off he went.
He turned from the wharves up an alley, and then into a fairly respectable street of small houses. Pausing before one of these, he knocked at the door, which was opened almost immediately by a big, blue-eyed, sun-burned, good-natured-looking man some thirty years of age and attired as to the upper part of him in a blue woollen jersey.
This was Captain Mike, of the Fish Patrol.
“Billy Harman!” said Captain Mike. “Come in.”
“No time,” said Harman. “I’ve just called to say a word. I wants you to do me a favour.”