body. At the head of a lane running
down to the open space, they had paused to make preparations
for any enemy that might lie in their path, and Dick
Elliott, as we have seen, was despatched ahead as a scout,
to report signs of danger.

But there was already a scout at work on behalf of the
enemy. Half-way down the lane a narrow alley ran in
from the riverside, and in this alley one of the
'wharf-rats,' as the schoolboys called the lads of Skinner's Hole,
was on the watch.

The wharf-rat was a short, skinny boy, very ragged
and tattered, whom his friends called Chippy; and he
was their captain and leader. At the corner of the alley
was a small greengrocer's shop, and Chippy, lying flat
along the stones on his stomach, had thrust his head round
a box full of onions which had been set outside the door.
From this cover he was keeping watch for the foe.

He saw them come into sight, saw them pause, and
knew that they scented trouble ahead; for they began to
search about for loose stones, and to kick shaky ones out
of the road. Then he saw Dick Elliott sent ahead to
reconnoitre.

Chippy looked over his shoulder, and measured the
distance he would have to run down the alley before he
could find cover. No go. If he ran, the scout of the other
side would see him scuttling, and suspect something.
Besides, Chippy was well known. He was a famous
leader in this kind of warfare. So he curled himself up
as round as a hedgehog, and lay hidden behind the box,
with his eye at a crack.

He gave a little grunt to himself as he saw Dick Elliott
look carefully along the alley before he went on down the
lane. Chippy was glad he hadn't run; he would
certainly have been seen. But as soon as Dick had passed,
he was up and away down the alley at full speed. He
made a couple of turns along side-streets, and then Quay
Flat lay before him. He put his fingers into his mouth
and gave a long, shrill whistle. There was no answer,
but Chippy was quite satisfied. He knew that his
warriors would understand. From another carefully
chosen spot he watched Dick Elliott come out on Quay
Flat and look all about. But the braves of Skinner's
Hole had caught their chief's whistle, and were lying
hidden among piles of old cordage and rusty anchors
which were heaped in one corner of the Flat. Dick ran
back up the lane.

'I can't see anyone about,' he reported. 'The Flat
looks as quiet as can be.'

'Come on!' said Arthur Graydon t