The two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased operations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many interested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had noted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had he missed the police boat.
“What the—” he commenced; but the detective’s stern question stopped an outburst.
“Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?”
“Mr. Vane—yes.”
“Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?”
“I don’t see—”
“Let me explain, captain. I’m from the detective bureau. The man I am inquiring for is wanted on several charges.”
The steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no cringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure.
“Well, I’m—” he growled. “Here, you,” roaring at a man beneath, “go aft and tell Mr. Vane he’s wanted on the bridge.”