"It will be
high tide in an hour."
They finished their coffee as quickly as possible; the stuff was not
far below boiling-point. Then Jervis returned the cups to the counter.
"Good night, Pat!" he cried, and rejoined Seton and Kerry.
As they came out into the desolation of the scrap heaps, the last
traces of fog had disappeared and a steady breeze came up the river,
fresh and salty from the Nore. Jervis led them in a north-easterly
direction, threading a way through pyramids of rubbish, until with the
wind in their teeth they came out upon the river bank at a point where
the shore shelved steeply downwards. A number of boats lay on the
shingle.
"We're pretty well opposite Greenwich Marshes," said Jervis. "You can
just see one of the big gasometers. The end boat is George's."
"Have you searched it?" rapped Kerry, placing a fresh piece of
chewing-gum between his teeth.
"I have, sir. Oh, he's too wise for that!"
"I propose," said Seton briskly, "that we borrow one of the other
boats and pull down stream to where that short pier juts out. We can
hide behind it and watch for our man. I take it he'll be bound up-
stream, and the tide will help us to follow him quietly."
"Right," said Kerry. "We'll take the small dinghy.
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