“Anything doing?” he asked.

Quest showed him the card and the sailing list.  The Inspector nodded.

“Say, that fellow’s some sport!” he remarked admiringly.  “You wouldn’t believe it just to look at him.  That staircase this afternoon, though, kind of teaches one not to trust to appearances.  So you think he’s getting a move on him, Mr. Quest?”

“I think he had a truck waiting for him at the corner of Gayson Avenue,” Quest replied.  “It was the machine my men went after.  The men looked like river thugs, although I shouldn’t have thought of it if the Professor hadn’t used the word ‘river pirates.’  It’s quite clear that they took Craig down to the river.  There’s only one likely ship sailing to-night and that’s the Durham.  It’s my belief Craig’s on her.”

The Inspector glanced at the clock.

“Then we’ve got to make tracks,” he declared, “and pretty quick, too.  She’ll be starting from somewhere about Number Twenty-eight dock, a long way down.  Come along, gentlemen.”

They hurried out to the automobile and started off for the docks.  The latter part of their journey was accomplished under difficulties, for the street was packed with drays and heavy vehicles.  They reached dock Number Twenty-eight at last, however, and hurried through the shed on to the wharf.  There were no signs of a steamer there.

“Where’s the Durham?” Quest asked one of the carters, who was just getting his team together.

The man pointed out to the middle of the river, where a small steamer was lying.

“There she is,” he replied.  “She’ll be off in a few minutes.  You’ll hear the sirens directly, when they begin to move down.”

Quest led the way quickly to the edge of the wharf.  There was a small tug there, the crew of which were just making her fast for the night.

“Fifty dollars if you’ll take us out to the Durham and catch her before she sails,” Quest shouted to the man who seemed to be the captain.  “What do you say?”

The man spat out a plug of tobacco from his mouth.

“I’d take you to hell for fifty dollars,” he answered tersely.  “Step in.  We’ll make it, if you look quick.”

They clambered down the iron ladder and jumped on to the deck of the tug.  The captain seized the wheel.  The two men who formed the crew took off their coats and waistcoats.

“Give it her, Jim,” the former ordered.  “Now, then, here goes!  We’ll just miss the ferry.”

They swung around and commenced their journey.  Quest stood with his watch in his hand.  They were getting up the anchor of the Durham, and from higher up the river came the screech of steamers beginning to move on their outward way.

“We’ll make it all right,” the captain assured them.

They were within a hundred yards of the Durham when Quest gave a little exclamation.  From the other side of the steamer another tug shot away, turning back towards New York.  Huddled up in the stern, half concealed in a tarpaulin, was a man in a plain black suit.  Quest, with a little shout, recognised the man at the helm from his long brown beard.