A moment later the police were leaping ashore.
George deserted his boat and went running heavily after his passenger.
"After them!" cried Coombes. "That's Sin Sin Wa!"
Around the mazey, rubbish-strewn paths the pursuit went hotly. In
sight of Dougal's Coombes saw the swing door open and a silhouette--
that of a man who carried a bag on his shoulder--pass in. George
Martin followed, but the Scotland Yard man had his hand upon his
shoulder.
"Police!" he said sharply. "Who's your friend?"
George turned, red and truculent, with clenched fists.
"Mind your own bloody business!" he roared.
"Mind yours, my lad!" retorted Coombes warningly. "You're no Thames
waterman. Who's your friend?"
"Wotcher mean?" shouted George. "You're up the pole or canned you
are!"
"Grab him!" said Coombes, and he kicked open the door and entered the
saloon, followed by Inspector White and the boat's crew.
As they appeared, the Inspector conspicuous in his uniform, backed by
the group of River Police, one of whom grasped George Martin by his
coat collar:
"Splits!" bellowed Dougal in a voice like a fog-horn.
Twenty cups of tea, coffee and cocoa, too hot for speedy assimilation,
were spilled upon the floor.
The place as usual was crowded, more particularly in the neighborhood
of the two stoves.
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