Harwich of Newcastle.
His eyes lifted to the taffrail. A lone figure stood there. A pair of gleaming eyes flashed over the distance between the passing ships. A heavy brow was pulled down by a muscular contraction.
Fay closed his lips in a hard firm line. He drew himself back and into the shadow of the boat. He
peered out from this position until the ship had merged within the pea-soup fog.
The man at the stern had lived too long. He was Dutch Gus!
Minutes passed with Fay in the same crouching position. He had received a facer. There was no denying the fact that Dutch Gus was alive. That individual was bound to the Holland port for no good reason. He had escaped from the Thames and had come on to settle accounts. Perhaps he was after the key to the dye cipher.
Fay straightened himself with an effort. He sauntered around the stern of the life-boat, drew out his cigarette-case, removed a cigarette, lighted this with a swift scratch of a match along the rail and went aft with his eyes searching for a deck steward.
He found one in the doorway of a midship cabin.
“Beastly,� he drawled. “Beastly awkward of me, wasn’t it?� he added. “I’ve gone and left Holland without my luggage. Can you tell me where I can get off this ship?�
The steward pocketed the shilling Fay pressed into his reaching palm. He pointed toward a darker mass in the fog.