The Captain, however, being, in his sober moments, a cautious man, looked attentively at the other, and said slowly—“Bad business—this ’ere. Do you ’appen to know the gent?”
“No—never saw him in my life. How the devil should I?” stammered Cripps, with his teeth chattering.
“Nor me,” said the Captain. After a long pause, he asked—“Wot are we agoin’ to do with ’im?”
The question was answered for them, in an abrupt and startling manner; for another face—that of a very dirty, keen-eyed, ragged-headed urchin, whose bare feet had brought him silently over the muddy bank—was obtruded between them, and stared down into the face of the dead man. Before either of them had time to say a word, the urchin leapt to his feet again, with a cry, and scudded away in the direction of the nearest houses.
“That’s done it,” murmured the Captain, in a resigned voice; “we’ll ’ave a policeman ’ere, in no time.” Then, a sudden thought striking him, he looked at the little man, and asked slowly—“Wot’s your opinion of ’ookin’ it, mess-mate?”
Dr. Cripps appearing to be too dazed fully to comprehend the situation, the Captain took him by the shoulders—gave him a shake or two—and stated the case.
“We can’t do no good by stoppin’ ’ere,” he said. “We shall only be ’awled up at the hinquest, an’ asked awkward questions. Nobody ain’t seen us—’cept that young limb—an’ I doubt if ’e knows us again. Therefore—wot I ses is—into the boat with yer—an’ let’s cut our lucky!”
Cripps appearing to grasp this point, after some difficulty, they left the dead man on the shore, and pushed off the boat, and made for Woolwich. Going, without further mishap, up the stream, they landed at the causeway from which they had so unceremoniously started—apparently greatly to the surprise and satisfaction of the man to whom the boat belonged.
“Got back, yer see,” said the Captain, carelessly, as he stepped on to the causeway, and gave a hand to the little man.
“So I see,” replied the man, pocketing the money which the Captain handed to him. “’Ad a nice row?”