The question was shot through thin lips. The pouches on the sides of the inspector’s jaw distended and contracted. He bared his gums like a wise old hound. His eyes narrowed to slits.
“Did ye get it?� he repeated as his arm shot out and clutched the cracksman’s shoulder.
Fay jerked away and turned. Some of the passengers had come forward and were curiously staring at him. Others peered out from the open doors of
staterooms. A bo’swain stood near by, with a long belaying-pin. He toyed with this weapon suggestively.
“I got it!� said Fay, turning back to MacKeenon. “Oh, yes, I got it! I got what you sent me for. You know I got it!�
“So does the police of that city—south and east of here. Why mon, ye made a terrible job of it. A could have done better myself. A was surprised, after what I expected of you. Fortunately A had that stick o’ mine handy, or else they’d of caught ye red-handed.â€�
Fay smiled with engaging warmth. “Thanks for that,� he said. “It was a good turn, but it deserved a better. What reason have I to leave this ship? Suppose I open my mouth and tell what I know.�
“Ye’ll never do that!â€� snapped MacKeenon cautiously. “Ye’ll never squeal—A know that to be a fact. Come on now, Chester, with me. Get your luggage and come on. You’re under arrest!â€�
The inspector threw back his coat and showed the gold insignia of Scotland Yard. He dropped his coat lapel and pointed a steady finger toward the destroyer whose deck was directly beneath the great ship’s rail.
“Come on, mon!� he ordered.