D THE MUDLARK

'I'LL board her to start with,' said Hazell, whispering to Racksole.
'I'll make out that I suspect they've got dutiable goods on board, and
that will give me a chance to have a good look at her.'

Dressed in his official overcoat and peaked cap, he stepped, rather
jauntily as Racksole thought, on to the low deck of the launch. 'Anyone
aboard?'

Racksole heard him cry out, and a woman's voice answered. 'I'm a Customs
examining officer, and I want to search the launch,' Hazell shouted,
and then disappeared down into the little saloon amidships, and Racksole
heard no more. It seemed to the millionaire that Hazell had been gone
hours, but at length he returned.

'Can't find anything,' he said, as he jumped into the boat, and then
privately to Racksole: 'There's a woman on board. Looks as if she might
coincide with your description of Miss Spencer. Steam's up, but there's
no engineer. I asked where the engineer was, and she inquired what
business that was of mine, and requested me to get through with my own
business and clear off. Seems rather a smart sort. I poked my nose into
everything, but I saw no sign of any one else. Perhaps we'd better pull
away and lie near for a bit, just to see if anything queer occurs.'

'You're quite sure he isn't on board?' Racksole asked.

'Quite,' said Hazell positively: 'I know how to search a vessel. See
this,' and he handed to Racksole a sort of steel skewer, about two feet
long, with a wooden handle. 'That,' he said, 'is one of the Customs'
aids to searching.'

'I suppose it wouldn't do to go on board and carry off the lady?'
Racksole suggested doubtfully.

'Well,' Hazell began, with equal doubtfulness, 'as for that--'

'Where's 'e orf?' It was the man in the bows who interrupted Hazell.

Following the direction of the man's finger, both Hazell and Racksole
saw with more or less distinctness a dinghy slip away from the forefoot
of the Norwegian vessel and disappear downstream into the mist.

'It's Jules, I'll swear,' cried Racksole. 'After him, men. Ten pounds
apiece if we overtake him!'

'Lay down to it now, boys!' said Hazell, and the heavy Customs boat shot
out in pursuit.

'This is going to be a lark,' Racksole remarked.

'Depends on what you call a lark,' said Hazell; 'it's not much of a
lark tearing down midstream like this in a fog. You never know when
you mayn't be in kingdom come with all these barges knocking around. I
expect that chap hid in the