“That” was the sound of a man’s feet coming swiftly toward them; they had one second to act, and flight over this marshy ground, filled with pit holes as it was, was impossible.  No; the best plan was to stay where they were and chance it.

“Talk, boy—­talk,” whispered Cleek, and began a hasty conversation in a high-pitched, cockney voice, to which Dollops bravely made answer in the best tone he could muster under the circumstances.

Then a voice snapped out at them across the small distance that separated them from the unseen stranger, and they stiffened instinctively.

“What the hell are you doing here?” it called.  “Don’t you know that it’s not safe to be in this district after nightfall?  And if you don’t—­well, a pocketful of lead will perhaps convince you!”

From the darkness ahead of them a figure followed the voice.  Cleek could dimly discern a tall, slouchy-shouldered man, clad in overalls, with a cap pulled down close over his eyes, and in the grasp of his right hand a very businesslike-looking revolver.

Cleek thought for a moment, then plunged bravely in.

“Come up from the passage, sir,” he responded curtly.  “Loadin’ up ternight, and some fool locked t’other end before me and my mate ’ere ’ad finished our work.  ’Ad to come along this w’y, or else spend the rest of the night dahn there, and we’re due for loadin’ the stuff at the docks at midnight.  Master’ll be devilish mad if ’e finds us missin’.”

It was a chance shot, but somehow chance often favours the brave.  It told.  The man lowered his revolver, gave them a quick glance from head to toe, and then swung upon his heel.

“Well, better clear out while there’s no danger,” he returned sharply.  “Two other men are on the watch-out for strangers.  Take that short cut there”—­he pointed to the left—­“and skirt round to the road.  Quarter of a mile’ll bring you.  Chaps at your end ought to see to it that none of the special hands stray up this way.  It’s not safe.  Good-night.”

“Good-night,” responded Cleek cheerily.  “Thank you, sir;” and, taking Dollops’s arm, swung off in the direction indicated, just as quick as his feet could carry him.

They walked in silence for a time, their feet making no sound in the marshy ground, when they were well out of earshot—­Cleek spoke in a low tone.

“Narrow shave, Dollops!”

“It was that, sir.  I could fair feel the razor aclippin’ a bit off me chin, so ter speak.  ‘Avin’ some nice adventures this night, ain’t we, guv’nor?”

“We certainly are.”  Cleek’s voice was absent-minded, for his thoughts were working, and already he was beginning to tie the broken threads of the skein that he had gathered into a rough cord, with here and there a gap that must—­and should—­be filled.  It was strange enough, in all conscience.  Here were these underground tunnels leading, “if you kept to the right,” from a field out Saltfleet way, to the very heart of