n one o' them barges, so you've only got to step on and take 'im orf.'

'That's all,' said a voice out of the depths of the nearest barge, and
it was the voice of Jules, otherwise known as Mr Tom Jackson.

''Ear 'im?' said the fat man smiling. ''E's a good 'un, 'e is. But if I
was you, Mr Hazell, or you, sir, I shouldn't step on to that barge so
quick as all that.'

They backed the boat under the stem of the nearest barge and gazed
upwards.

'It's all right,' said Racksole to Hazell; 'I've got a revolver. How can
I clamber up there?'

'Yes, I dare say you've got a revolver all right,' Hazell replied
sharply.

'But you mustn't use it. There mustn't be any noise. We should have the
river police down on us in a twinkling if there was a revolver shot,
and it would be the ruin of me. If an inquiry was held the Commissioners
wouldn't take any official notice of the fact that my superior officer
had put me on to this job, and I should be requested to leave the
service.'

'Have no fear on that score,' said Racksole. 'I shall, of course, take
all responsibility.'

'It wouldn't matter how much responsibility you took,' Hazell retorted;
'you wouldn't put me back into the service, and my career would be at an
end.'

'But there are other careers,' said Racksole, who was really anxious to
lame his ex-waiter by means of a judiciously-aimed bullet. 'There are
other careers.'

'The Customs is my career,' said Hazell, 'so let's have no shooting.
We'll wait about a bit; he can't escape. You can have my skewer if you
like'--and he gave Racksole his searching instrument. 'And you can do
what you please, provided you do it neatly and don't make a row over
it.'

For a few moments the four men were passive in the boat, surrounded by
swirling mist, with black water beneath them, and towering above them
a half-loaded barge with a desperate and resourceful man on board.
Suddenly the mist parted and shrivelled away in patches, as though
before the breath of some monster. The sky was visible; it was a clear
sky, and the moon was shining. The transformation was just one of those
meteorological quick-changes which happen most frequently on a great
river.

'That's a sight better,' said the fat man. At the same moment a head
appeared over the edge of the barge. It was Jules' face--dark, sinister
and leering.

'Is it Mr Racksole in that boat?' he inquired calmly; 'because if so,
let Mr Racksole step up. Mr Racksole has caught me, and