“Easy job this, matey,” whispered Dollops as he and Cleek advanced upon the stack of tubings and each started to lift one down.  “I ...  Gawd’s truf! ain’t it ’eavy!  Lorlumme!  Now, what in blazes—?”

Cleek put up a warning finger, and shouldered the thing.  Heavy it certainly was, though of such fine metal that its weight seemed incredible.  And when one knew that these things carried electric wiring....  Or did they?...  Never was made an electric wire that was as heavy as that.

Cleek carried one of these tubings to the dock’s edge, with the aid of Dollops handed it over into the hands that were outstretched to receive it, and went back for another one.  Back and forth and back and forth they went, lifting, carrying, delivering, until one boat was loaded, and another one hove into sight in its place.  He watched the first one’s slow progress out across the murky waters for a moment, making a pretense of mopping his forehead with his handkerchief meanwhile.  It was loaded below the water-mark!  It hung so low in the water that it looked a mere smudge upon the face of it, a ribbon of sail flapping from its slender mast.

Electrical tubings, eh?  Faugh! a pretty story that....

Two boats were filled, three, four....  A fifth came riding up under the very nose of the last, and settled itself with a rattle of chains and bumping of sides against the quay.  That, too, was loaded to its very edge, and took its way slowly out beneath their eyes.  The sixth took its place after its fellows.

For a moment or two the sweating men ceased in their work, and stood wiping their faces or leaning against the dock wall, talking in low whispers.

Cleek and Dollops stood at the quayside, listening to the water lapping against the iron girders, and straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the fleet of fishing boats.  Of a sudden from out the blackness others appeared.  Old Black Whiskers gave a muttered order, and like a well-drilled army the men were ready again, this time flocking to the side of the quay as the boats rode up, and waiting for them, empty-handed.  Cleek turned to the nearest one, and spoke in a low-toned voice.

“What now, matey?  I’m new at this gyme.”

“Oh—­unloadin’.  Usual thing.  Faulty gauge.  Don’t never seem as though the factory kin get the proper gauge fer those tubin’s.  All the time I bin ’ere—­nigh on to two years—­it’s bin the same.  Every lot goes out, some comes back again with a complaint.  Funny thing, ain’t it?”

“Yus,” responded Cleek shortly.  “Damn funny.”  It certainly was.  Unless ... he sucked in his breath and his lips pursed themselves up to whistle.  But no sound came.

And the work of unloading began.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCE

For a few days there was no more overtime to be earned by Cleek or Dollops, so that they were free to spend their evening as they wished, and though the “Pig and Whistle” got its fair share of their time—­for the sake of appearances—­there were long hours afterward, between the last tattered remnants of the night and the day’s dawning, when they did a vast amount of exploration.