“All ashore!� called the skipper from a ledge before the wheel-house. “Line this way and pass the inspectors. All bags and luggage will be opened.�
Fay pressed back the lapel of his tweed coat and exposed the little silver greyhound as he stepped upon the gangplank. He felt a pressure on his back as he worked slowly up the crowded incline. He reached the funnel of the outlet—a roped-in bay where stood two Dutch custom inspectors, their broad faces gleaming with good humor and badinage.
Behind them leaned a man with an old pipe. This pipe turned and dropped its ashes as Fay pressed forward the insignia by holding out the lapel of his coat with a steady thumb.
The custom inspectors turned to the man with the pipe. They asked a question in Dutch.
The man tilted his pipe upward with a sudden twist of his wrist and said very distinctly:
“By all means pass him! Never mind the bag!�
Fay stepped ashore. He turned to see who had been pressing against his back. He overlooked the trifle! A little old Scot, with a bundle, had already scurried behind a shed from which he peered with ferret-like intentness.
CHAPTER VIII
LURKING SHADOWS
A sanguine sun broke through the Holland mists as Fay strode briskly from the docks and quays and entered the ancient city.
He took the first street which would lead him in the direction of a little hotel, at one time patronized by international celebrities of the underworld.