“There’s Tom White,” said one of the group. “I say,” shouted he, “have you found your boat, Tom?”
Tom looked up and scanned the group. Our heroes’ hearts were in their boots as his eyes met theirs. But to their relief he did not know them. A half-tipsy man on a dark night is not a good hand at remembering faces.
“Found her? No, I aren’t, young gentleman,” said he.
“Hard lines. Hope you’ll get her back,” said the boy. “I say, do you think any one stole her?”
“May be, may be not,” replied the boatman.
“Jolly rum thing about that boat,” said the spokesman of the party, as the boys continued their walk.
“I expect it got adrift somehow,” said another.
“I don’t know,” said the first. “I was speaking to a bobby about her: he says they think she was stolen; and fancy they’ve got a clue to the fellow.”
Heathcote stumbled for no apparent reason at this particular moment, and it was quite amusing to see the concern on Dick’s face as he went to the rescue.
“Jolly low trick,” continued the boy, who appeared to interest himself so deeply in Tom’s loss, “if any one really took the boat away. Tom will be ruined.”