'
'What sort of a craft is she, sir?' asked the stroke oar, a fat-faced
man who seemed absolutely incapable of any serious exertion.
'I don't know,' Racksole replied; 'but as near as I can judge, she's
about sixty feet in length, and painted black. I fancy I shall
recognize her when I see her.'
'Not much to go by, that,' exclaimed the other man curtly. But he
said no more. He, as well as his mate, had received from Theodore
Racksole one English sovereign as a kind of preliminary fee, and
an English sovereign will do a lot towards silencing the natural
sarcastic tendencies and free speech of a Thames waterman.
'There's one thing I noticed,' said Racksole suddenly, 'and I forgot
to tell you of it, Mr Hazell. Her screw seemed to move with a
rather irregular, lame sort of beat.'
Both watermen burst into a laugh.
'Oh,' said the fat rower, 'I know what you're after, sir - it's Jack
Everett's launch, commonly called "Squirm". She's got a
four-bladed propeller, and one blade is broken off short.'
'Ay, that's it, sure enough,' agreed the man in the bows. 'And if it's
her you want, I seed her lying up against Cherry Gardens Pier this
very morning.'
'Let us go to Cherry Gardens Pier by all means, as soon as
possible,'
Racksole said, and the boat swung across stream and then began to
creep down by the right bank, feeling its way past wharves, many
of which, even at that hour, were still busy with their cranes, that
descended empty into the bellies of ships and came up full.
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