“You're one o' the right sort. What say, Peter?” Peter was only too glad. The prospect of getting into a warm house was enough inducement, even without the further bliss of a couple of nips.
In half an hour the two men were helplessly drunk in Harry's room, and their generous host carefully placing another bottle (not doctored this time) of rum on the table for them when they awoke, quietly went out and locked the door behind him. Then he walked quickly back to where the Belted Will boat lay, and descending the steps, got into her and seemed to busy himself for a while. He soon found what he was looking for, and then came the sound of inrushing water. Then he drew the boat up again to the steps, got out, and casting off the painter, slung it aboard, and shoved her into the darkness.
For another hour he waited patiently, and then came the rattle of wheels, and loud voices and laughter, as a vehicle drew up at the deserted wharf.
“Why not stay ashore to-night, captain,” said one of the guest's champagne-laden companions, “and tell your man to go back?”
“No, no,” laughed Cressingham. “I don't like the look of the weather, and must get aboard right away. Boat ahoy! Where are you, men?”
“Your boat isn't here, sir,” said a gruff voice, and a tall man advanced from the darkness of the sheds. “I saw the men up town, both pretty full, and heard them laughing and say they meant to have a night ashore. It's my belief they turned her adrift purposely.”
Cressingham cursed them savagely, and then turned to the tall man.
“Can you get me a boat?”
“Well, sir, there's a big heavy boat belonging to my boss that I can get, and I don't mind putting you aboard. We can sail out with this breeze in no time. She's lying under the coal-wharf.”
“That'll do. Good-bye, gentlemen. I trust we shall all meet again in another eight months or so.”