'I'm a
Customs examining officer, and I want to search the launch,'
Hazell shouted, and then disappeared down into the little saloon
amidships, and Racksole heard no more. It seemed to the
millionaire that Hazell had been gone hours, but at length he
returned.
'Can't find anything,' he said, as he jumped into the boat, and then
privately to Racksole: 'There's a woman on board. Looks as if she
might coincide with your description of Miss Spencer. Steam's up,
but there's no engineer. I asked where the engineer was, and she
inquired what business that was of mine, and requested me to get
through with my own business and clear off. Seems rather a smart
sort. I poked my nose into everything, but I saw no sign of any one
else. Perhaps we'd better pull away and lie near for a bit, just to see
if anything queer occurs.'
'You're quite sure he isn't on board?' Racksole asked.
'Quite,' said Hazell positively: 'I know how to search a vessel. See
this,'
and he handed to Racksole a sort of steel skewer, about two feet
long, with a wooden handle. 'That,' he said, 'is one of the Customs'
aids to searching.'
'I suppose it wouldn't do to go on board and carry off the lady?'
Racksole suggested doubtfully.
'Well,' Hazell began, with equal doubtfulness, 'as for that - '
'Where's 'e orf?' It was the man in the bows who interrupted Hazell.
Following the direction of the man's finger, both Hazell and
Racksole saw with more or less distinctness a dinghy slip away
from the forefoot of the Norwegian vessel and disappear
downstream into the mist.
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