"Ah, it's th' funny man ye are. He! he! he! Phwy don't yer git fat? If Oi——"
"Then it is 'no,' eh? Well, here——"
"Hould an, me buck. Oi'll go back and take another swig. Then to me dooty, yer understand. Here goes.
"'So he seized th' (hic) capstan bar,
Like a true honest tar,
And in spite of——'"
The husky notes died away, a door slammed in one of a row of wooden shanties across the bridge, and all was quiet. The tall, thin man glanced keenly after his companion; then, slipping up to the Manning "go-down," he examined the entrance. It was locked. Inserting a key he soon gained admission. As he softly closed the door again he stood within a pace of Nattie.
It had not taken the lad many seconds to catch the drift of affairs. He knew full well that Patrick's tempter was no other than Willis Round, the firm's ex-bookkeeper. His presence in that locality during a heavy storm, his familiarity with the recreant watchman, the evident and successful attempt to entice him away from his post, could have only one meaning.
He had designs on the property of his enemies.
Long before Patrick had lurched back to the shanty Nattie had slipped into the office. When he heard the key grating in the lock he was not surprised; but he was considerably puzzled as to the best manner in which he should treat the situation.