The boat shot out from the shadow of the dark stairs, and the boy began pulling easily towards Westminster-bridge.
Scarcely had the boat got a dozen oar’s length from the shore, when Albert Seyton stood upon the steps, and cried,—
“Boat—boat—hilloa, boat!”
“First oars!” cried another voice,—“quick, my man, first oars here!”
Albert turned to the speaker, and by his side, on the slippery wooden steps, was the man he had before noticed as following Gray.
For a moment they looked at each other intensely, and the officer thought to himself—
“I shall know you again, my young spark;” while Albert Seyton was quite absorbed in the exceedingly ugly face before him, further adorned as it was, for nature had intersected it by several seams from old wounds received in many a fray.
“Here you are, your honour,” cried a waterman.
“For me,” said Albert.
“I beg your pardon, young fellow, it’s for me,” said the spy.