I tried to get away from him, and to keep up my assumed character was foolish enough to attempt using a sailor-like phrase.
No sooner had the tar heard my words than he bellowed out:
"Hurroo—hurroo! Shiver my timbers if ye ever smelt salt water! You're no tar—smash my headlights if ye are! Can't play that game on me," following his speech with a hearty guffaw.
He raised his hand to slap me on the shoulder, and his fingers caught in and dragged off the bushy whiskers I had put on for a disguise.
All eyes had been drawn to us by the drunken sailor's words, and when my face was seen there was a start of alarm on all sides.
Some one recognized me.
"A detective—a detective!"
And then a hoarse and angry murmur was heard on every side, and I was slowly hemmed in by a crowd of scowling-faced villains.