He shook his head rapidly.

“No, boy, no.  Simply thinking, and smelling a rat somewhere.”

“Been smellin’ of it meself this parst two hours,” returned Dollops in a sibilant whisper.  His eye shone for a moment with the light of battle.  “Got summink ter tell you,” he whispered under cover of the noise.  “Summink wot ought ter interest yer, I don’t fink.  ’Ave ter keep till evenin’.  Eh, Bill?”

“Right you are, matey.”  Cleek’s voice rose loudly as the overseer passed, pausing a moment to watch them at work.  “Nice job this, I must sy.  Arfter me own ’eart, strite it is.  Soon catch on to it, don’t yer?”

“Ra-ther!” returned Dollops significantly.

The overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on.

CHAPTER XXIII

PRISONERS

It was not until the evening was fairly far advanced that the opportunity of speaking to Dollops alone was afforded Cleek.  He took it when the “Pig and Whistle” was filled to overflowing, and hardly a man who worked at the factory was not inside it or standing outside near the little quay, holding the usual evening’s confab on the affairs of the day.  Cleek caught hold of Dollops as he was making his way into the little bar.

“Come fer a turn up the road, matey,” he said loudly.  “It’s a fine evenin’ wot mykes yer ’omesick fer a sight uf yer own fireside.  ’Ave another drink later, mebbe.  Come on.”

Dollops linked arms with him, and, smoking and talking, the two men went off up the dark lane which led from the quayside, and of a night-time was as black as a pocket.  Cleek’s torch showed them the pathway, and as they walked they talked in rapid whispers.

“Now, lad, let’s hear all you’ve got to say!” he rapped out at length, as the distance grew between themselves and the crowded little pub, and they were safely out of earshot.

Dollops gulped with pent-up excitement.

“Lor! sir, there’s summink wrong, any’ow; I’ve discovered that much!” he broke out enthusiastically.  “Chummed up with ole Black Whiskers I did, and promised ’im a ‘and ternight at twelve o’clock ter do some loadin’ on ter the fishin’ boats wot’s on their way ter Belgium.  ’You’re a nice-seemin’ sort er lad,’ he tole me after we’d bin chattin’ fer ten minutes or so.  ’Want ter make a bit of extra money by ‘oldin’ of your tongue?’ I was on it like a knife.  ‘Ra-ther!’ I ses.  ‘Orl right,’ ses ’e.  ’Come along ter the quayside ternight at twelve o’clock.  There’s a bit uf loadin’ up ter be done, an’ only a few uv the men are required.  I don’t choose none wot I don’t cotton to.’  ’You’ll cotton ter me all right, matey,’ I ses, with a sort uv a larf that seemed ter tickle ’im.  ’I’m as close as the devil ’imself.  Anythink yer doesn’t want me ter see, just tip me the wink.’  ‘I will that,’ ses ‘e, and then went off.  An’ so ‘ere I am, sir, fixed up for a busy evenin’ along uv ole Black Whiskers.  An’ if I don’t learn summink this night, well, my name ain’t Dollops!”