There was a ceaseless chorus of
distant machinery, and above it rose the grinding and rattling solo of
a steam winch. Once a siren hooted apparently quite near them, and
looking upward at a tangled, indeterminable mass which overhung the
street at this point, Rita suddenly recognized it for a ship's
bow-sprit.
"Why," she said, "we are right on the bank of the river!"
"Not quite," answered Pyne. "We are skirting a dock basin. We are
nearly at our destination."
Passing in turn under the lamp, they entered the narrow court, and
from a doorway immediately on the left a faint light shone out upon
the wet pavement. Pyne pushed the door fully open and held it for Rita
to enter. As she did so:
"Hello! hello!" croaked a harsh voice. "Number one p'lice chop, lo!
Sin Sin Wa!"
The uncanny cracked voice proceeded to give an excellent imitation of
a police whistle, and concluded with that of the clicking of
castanets.
"Shut the door, Lucy," came the murmurous tones of Kilfane from the
gloom of the stuffy little room, in the centre of which stood a stove
wherefrom had proceeded the dim light shining out upon the pavement.
"Light up, Sin Sin."
"Sin Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!" shrieked the voice, and again came the
rattling of imaginary castanets.
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