"What now, matey? I'm new at this gyme."

"Oh--unloadin'. Usual thing. Faulty gauge. Don't never seem as though the
factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin's. All the time I bin
'ere--nigh on to two years--it's bin the same. Every lot goes out, some
comes back again with a complaint. Funny thing, ain't it?"

"Yus," responded Cleek shortly. "Damn funny." It certainly was.
Unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves
up to whistle. But no sound came.

And the work of unloading began.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCE

For a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by Cleek or
Dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished,
and though the "Pig and Whistle" got its fair share of their time--for
the sake of appearances--there were long hours afterward, between the
last tattered remnants of the night and the day's dawning, when they did
a vast amount of exploration.

That they made good use of this time was proved by the little note-book
that rested in Cleek's pocket, and in which a rough chart of the country
and the docks was drawn--though there were still some blanks to be filled
in--while opposite it was a rude outline of the secret passage into which
they had blundered three nights before.

"Got to explore that hole from end to end, Dollops," said Cleek on the
fourth evening, as they struck off together toward that gap in the hedge,
soon after the clock in the village had chimed out ten, and the little
bar of the "Pig and Whistle" was slowly emptying itself of its
_habitues_. "I've the main route fairly correct, I think, and a rough
idea of where those sacks stood, and where we took to cover when Black
Whiskers was showing the master of this underworld domain through it.
Happen to have learnt the chap's name yet?"

Dollops nodded.

"Yessir. Brent it is, Jonathan Brent, or so one of the men tells me. Says
he's never seed 'im, though; nobody 'ardly ever does, from all accounts
'e give me. Ole Black Whiskers and our silent-footed friend Borkins is
the main ones wot does 'is work for 'im."

"H'm. Well, that's something gleaned, anyway. Of course we may be able to
find out who he really is, but the chances are small. Men like this chap
don't go giving away anything more than they can help. They lie low and
let their paid underlings stand the racket if it happens to come along.
I know the type. I've come cross it before. Well, here we are.