It's more exciting than playing the trombone in an
orchestra. I'll run him down, eh? - and then we can drag the chap in
from the water.'
Racksole nodded, but at that moment a barge, with her red sails
set, stood out of the fog clean across the bows of the Customs boat,
which narrowly escaped instant destruction. When they got clear,
and the usual interchange of calm, nonchalant swearing was over,
the dinghy was barely to be discerned in the mist, and the fat man
was breathing in such a manner that his sighs might almost have
been heard on the banks. Racksole wanted violently to do
something, but there was nothing to do; he could only sit supine by
Hazell's side in the stern-sheets. Gradually they began again to
overtake the dinghy, whose one-man crew was evidently tiring. As
they came up, hand over fist, the dinghy's nose swerved aside, and
the tiny craft passed down a water-lane between two anchored
mineral barges, which lay black and deserted about fifty yards
from the Surrey shore. 'To starboard,' said Racksole. 'No, man!'
Hazell replied; 'we can't get through there. He's bound to come Out
below; it's only a feint. I'll keep our nose straight ahead.'
And they went on, the fat man pounding away, with a face which
glistened even in the thick gloom. It was an empty dinghy which
emerged from between the two barges and went drifting and
revolving down towards Greenwich.
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