“Thanks!” said Fay. “I’ll see if they will!”
The ferry-house was thronged with passengers as the two ex-inmates searched about for Joe Yeader. These passengers thinned. A man stepped forward and clucked from the corner of his mouth.
“All right,” said Fay swiftly. “Hop aboard, and we’ll follow.”
Rake trailed Yeader and Fay. The three men secured seats in the smoking-cabin. Yeader, crossing his legs over a yellow kit-bag, took Fay’s proffered Perfecto, and drawled:
“At your service, sirs. Beastly sultry night.”
The ferry-boat reached St. George. The three rushed for a train which would pass Quarantine Station on an inland route. They descended at a dark station, walked rapidly through silent streets till they came to the gleaming waters of the Narrows.
Fay saluted a man on guard, showed his authority from the Customhouse, and received permission to enter the telegraph station.
He turned on the steps and glanced down at Yeader and Rake.
“Stay here!” he said. “Hold the bag. I’m going up and find out when the Imparada comes in. Also, I shall send a wireless message to the manager of the Gray Taxi Company.”