“In there, my son, and no nice place either!” pointing to a smaller entrance alongside the Imperial docks, almost concealed by swinging signs.  It was plainly a forbidden way, and at first sight appeared too narrow for the passage of any vehicle whatsoever.  But examination showed that it was not too narrow; moreover, it opened on a level with the street.

“If you really want her, she’s in there, though what’ll be to pay if you go in there without a permit, I don’t know.  I’d hate to have to arrest you.”

“It might be the best thing for me if you did, but I’m going in.  You might wait here a minute.  Captain, if you will.”

“I will that; more especially as that car was a stunner for speed and I already had my eye on her.  I’d like to see you fish her out of that hole.”

But Hambleton was out of earshot and out of sight.  An empty passage smelling of bilge-water and pent-up gases opened suddenly on to the larger dock.  Damp flooring with wide cracks stretched off to the left; on the right the solid planking terminated suddenly in huge piles, against which the water, capped with scum and weeds, splashed fitfully.  The river bank, lined with docks, seemed lulled into temporary quietness.  Ferry-boats steamed at their labors farther up and down the river, but the currents of travel left here and there a peaceful quarter such as this.

Hambleton’s gaze searched the dock and the river in a rapid survey.  The dock itself was dim and vast, with a few workmen looking like ants in the distance.  It offered nothing of encouragement; but on the river, fifty yards away, and getting farther away every minute, was a yacht’s tender.  The figures of the two rowers were quite distinct, their oars making rhythmical flashes over the water, but it was impossible to say exactly what freight, human or otherwise, it carried.  It was evident that there were people aboard, possibly several.  Even as Hambleton strained his eyes to see, the outlines of the rowboat merged into the dimness.  It was pointed like a gun toward a large yacht lying at anchor farther out in the stream.  The vessel swayed prettily to the current, and slowly swung its dim light from the masthead.

“They’ve got her—­out in that boat,” said Hambleton to himself, feeling, while the words were on his lips, that he was drawing conclusions unwarranted by the evidence.  Thus he stood, one foot on the slippery log siding of the dock, watching while the little drama played itself out, so far as his present knowledge could go.  His judgment still hung in suspense, but his senses quickened themselves to detect, if possible, what the outcome might be.  He saw the tender approach the boat, lie alongside; saw one sailor after another descend the rope ladder, saw a limp, inert mass lifted from the rowboat and carried up, as if it had been merchandise, to the deck of the yacht; saw two men follow the limp bundle over the gunwale; and finally saw the boat herself drawn up and placed in her davits.  Hambleton’s mind at last slid to its conclusion, like a bolt into its socket.