As luck would have it, there was an electric light almost in front of the coffee-house door. Diagonally across the street was a pile of timbers, close to the string-piece of a dock. The timbers were in a shadow, and at the end of the pile was a hollow space, formed by some projecting beams, that was inky black. Glancing hastily up and down the street to make sure they were not observed, Sheridan slipped across the street, followed by Willie, and in a second they were securely hidden in the recesses of the lumber pile.
Fortunately they did not have long to wait. Soon the door of the coffee-house opened and a group of men came out. One of them was singing noisily.
“That’s the fellow,” said Willie.
“I don’t know who he is. But we’ll soon find out.”
The men from the coffee-house parted on the sidewalk, and the roistering one started off alone, the others going in the opposite direction.
“That’s luck,” muttered Sheridan.
When the man was half a block down the street, the watchers slipped from their retreat and trailed the man until he crossed the road and disappeared in the darkness. The trailers hurried along and were just in time to see him crawling unsteadily over the side of the pier to the deck of a barge. Returning a little later, they found everything dark and deserted about the pier. So they ventured out on it and made a swift examination of the barge.
“She’s the Dixie,” muttered Sheridan, studying the name on the stern of the boat. “And she belongs to the Coastwise Steamship Company. They operate between here and the South. We’ll have a look at her to-morrow.”
“May I go along?” demanded Willie.
“Surest thing you know. Why, you’re a material witness in this case. You meet me at Bowling Green at eight o’clock to-morrow morning, and we’ll have a look at the Dixie.”