'Now, Mr Racksole, you've been after me for a long time,'
he continued; 'here I am. Why don't you step up? If you haven't got
the pluck yourself, persuade someone else to step up in your place
. . . the same fair treatment will be accorded to all.' And Jules
laughed a low, penetrating laugh.
He was in the midst of this laugh when he lurched suddenly
forward.
'What'r' you doing of aboard my barge? Off you goes!' It was a
boy's small shrill voice that sounded in the night. A ragged boy's
small form had appeared silently behind Jules, and two small arms
with a vicious shove precipitated him into the water. He fell with a
fine gurgling splash. It was at once obvious that swimming was not
among Jules' accomplishments. He floundered wildly and sank.
When he reappeared he was dragged into the Customs boat. Rope
was produced, and in a minute or two the man lay ignominiously
bound in the bottom of the boat. With the aid of a mudlark - a
mere barge boy, who probably had no more right on the barge than
Jules himself - Racksole had won his game. For the first time for
several weeks the millionaire experienced a sensation of
equanimity and satisfaction. He leaned over the prostrate form of
Jules, Hazell's professional skewer in his hand.
'What are you going to do with him now?' asked Hazell.
'We'll row up to the landing steps in front of the Grand Babylon.
He shall be well lodged at my hotel, I promise him.
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