“Are we all ’ere?” demanded Tim, suddenly.
“I am,” said the cook, emphatically.
“’Cos I see su’thing right behind them bags o’ sugar,” said the youth, clutching hold of the cook on one side and the watchman on the other. “Spread out a bit, chaps.”
Joe dashed boldly round with the lantern. There was a faint scream and an exclamation of triumph from the seaman. “I’ve got it!” he shouted.
The others followed hastily, and saw the fearless Joe firmly gripping the apparition. At the sight the cook furtively combed his hair with his fingers, while Tim modestly buttoned up his jacket.
“Take this lantern, so’s I can hold her better,” said Joe, extending it.
The cook took it from him, and holding it up, revealed the face of a tall, good-looking woman of some seven or eight and twenty.
“What are you doin’ here?” demanded the watchman, with official austerity.
“I’m waiting for a friend of mine,” said the visitor, struggling with Joe. “Make this man leave go of me, please.”
“Joe,” said the watchman, with severity. “I’m ashamed of you. Who is your friend, miss?”