Denman and a part of his crew passed from the warehouse while one of the men remarked: 

“I’ve some private property in here to look after and I’ll see to it at once.”

A smile flitted over the face of the detective.  He thought a chance was about to present itself for him to get away.

A moment he lay quiet, and then emerged from his hiding-place.

The warehouse was artificially illuminated by a few swinging lamps, and only one was lighted at the time.

The detective cautiously glanced around.  He had prepared himself for the work he had in hand.  He saw a light in a distant corner and he cautiously stole toward the light, and came upon a man sorting over the contents of a sailor’s ship-sack.

It was a critical moment; life depended upon success, death would follow, sure death, the failure of his plan.

Like a cat creeping toward an unsuspecting bird on a twig, the detective crept toward the smuggler, knowing that when he sprung upon his prey there must be no mistake.

The critical moment was reached, the officer made his leap forward, and seized his man, seized him by the throat, and when once Vance got his grip on a man’s throat silence followed; no man was ever known to make an outcry with those powerful fingers grasped around his neck.

The man was, not a very powerful fellow, fortunately, and the detective easily bore him to the ground.  Having secured the man, the detective said: 

“I am going to lighten my grip on your throat.  I wish to ask you a few questions, answer me promptly and truthfully, and you will save your life; but seek to make an outcry, and you are a dead man.  Now wink if you mean to keep quiet and save your life?”

The mail winked.

“All right, old fellow, you know the value of your skin, I see, and mark you don’t make any mistake, for as certain as you make the least effort to give an alarm, you are a dead man; do you understand?  If so, wink.”

The man winked: 

“That’s all right,” said the detective; and he released his hold on the man’s throat.

The man kept his word.  He was not a very nervy chap, and was terrified almost to death, as it was.

“What is your name?” demanded the detective.

“Why do you wish to know my name?”

The man spoke in a loud tone, when the detective said: 

“Speak low, old man—­very low, or you’ll never speak again.  Now wink.”

The man winked, and the detective said: 

“Now tell me your name?”

“My name is Arbella.”

“Your name is Arbella?”
“Yes.”

“You are one of the crew of the ’Nancy’?”

“No.”

“You are not?”

“I am not.”

“What are you?”

“I am the doctor on the vessel.  I’ve nothing to do with their business.”

“Oh, you’re the doctor?”

“I am.”