d be made to say no more, in
spite of the scornful laugh with which Cleek greeted this news.

Fishing boats?... H'm. That was devilish peculiar. Sending out electrical
fittings to Belgium in _fishing boats_! Funny sort of a way to do trade,
though no doubt it was quite permissible up to a point. Well, he must
glean something more out of this good fellow before the day was over.

A glass of beer at the "Pig and Whistle" after dinner worked wonders with
the man's tongue. He was not a favourite, so free drinks did not often
come his way. After the second glass he seemed almost ready to sell
his soul to this amicable newcomer, but Cleek was wise, and bided his
time. He didn't mean to fleece his man of the information in sight and
sound of his fellows. So he simply talked of the topics of the day,
discussed the labour question--from a new view-point--and then, as they
strolled back together to the factory, just as the whistle began to blow
that told the hands the dinner-hour was over, Cleek fired his first shot.

"See 'ere, matey," he began confidentially, "you're a decent sort of
bloke, you are! Tell us a bit more about them there fishin' boats wot you
spoke uv. I'm that interested, I've been fair eaten up with curiosity.
Yer didn't mean the master of this plyce goes and ships electrical
fittin's and such-like out to Belgium in _fishin'_ boats--strite, eh?"

"Yus." Jenkins nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean. Seems sort er
funny, don't it? And I reckon there's somethin' a bit fishy about the
whole thing. But I keep me mouth shut. That overseer's the very devil
'imself. Happen you'll larn ter do likewise. Two chaps who were 'ere
larst thought they'd be a bit smarty like, and told 'im they were goin'
ter tell all they knew--though God knows what it was! I ain't been able
to learn much, and haven't tried neither. But they went--zip! like that!
Never saw 'em no more, and nothin' come of it.... Best to keep your mouth
shut, mate. In this 'ere place, any'ow."

"Oh," said Cleek off-handedly, "I'm not one to blab. You needn't be
afraid o' that. By the way, who's the chap with the black mustache
a-stragglin' all over 'is fyce? An' the narsty eye? Saw 'im with Borkins,
the man wot engaged me night before last."

"That wasn't Borkins, me beauty," returned Jenkins with a laugh. "That
ain't his name. 'Ow did you come ter think of it? That fellow's name's
Piggott. And the other man? We calls 'im Dirty Jim, because 'e does all
the