Black Whiskers switched round in his slouchy walk, where he had fallen in step beside Dollops, leaving Cleek on the boy’s right hand, and gave the “mate” a searching look under black brows.  In the darkness, with just a thread of moonlight to make patterns upon the black waters and etch out the outline of mast and funnel and hull against the indigo, Cleek recognized that look, and set his mouth grimly.  He’d seen it once before, upon that night when this man had stolen into his room and tried to knife him.

“Where’re you off to, matey?  With all your fine secrets?  I’d like to know!” he said jokingly, digging Dollops in the ribs, and giving a loud guffaw.  “Some girl, I suppose.”

“Somethin’ uv more account than women, I kin tell ye!” threw in Black Whiskers roughly. “’E’s going ter help me with a little work—­overtime is what ‘e’ll get fer it.  If yer willin’ ter lend a ’and, overtime you’ll get, too.  But you’ll keep yer mouth shut, or clear.  One or t’other.  It’s up ter you ter choose.”

Cleek laughed.

“Call me a fool, matey—­but not a damned fool!” he said pleasantly.  “Bill Jones knows what side ’is bread’s buttered on, I kin tell yer!  Soft job like this one wot we’ve nicked on ter ain’t goin’ ter slip through ’is fingers fer a little tongue-waggin’.  I’m on, mate.”

“Righto.”

“What’s the job?”

“Loadin’ up boats fer cargo.”

“Oh!...  Contraband, eh, matey?”

“That’s none uv yer business, my man, and as long as you remembers that, you’ll ’old yer job; no more, no less.”

“Beg pardon, I’m sure.  But I bin in the same sort uv thing meself—­out in Jamaica.  Used ter smuggle things through the customs.  Nifty business it were, too, and I almost got caught twice.  But I slipped it somehow.  Just loadin’ is our game, then?”

“Jist loadin’,” responded Black Whiskers significantly. “’Ere we are.  Now then, get ter work.  See them tubings over there?  Well, they’ve got to be carried over to that fishin’-smack drawn up against the dock.  There’s six of ’em goin’ ternight, and we’ve got ter be quick.  Ain’t as easy as it looks, mate, but—­that’s not your business neither.  Get ter work!”

They got to work forthwith, and turned to the pile of electrical tubings which was built up against the side of the dock wall, twice as high as a man’s head.  A pale lantern swung from the edge of the same wall, above them, hanging suspended from a nail; another hung on the opposite side from a post.  By the light of these two lamps they could see a knot of men assembled in the centre of the dockyard, talking together in low whispers, while down below, at the water’s edge, rocked a fleet of fishing boats awaiting their mysterious cargo.  One could hear the men stirring restlessly and shifting sail as they waited for the task to begin.

Then the word was given in a low, vibrant voice, and they went to work.