taken advantage of me, and under the circumstances I can't refuse.
I'll do this thing--not because of your threat, but because I
heard about your trouble over the Midas--and because I can't help
admiring your blamed insolence." He went back into his stall.

Dextry returned to Wheaton's office. As he neared it, he passed a
lounging figure in an adjacent doorway.

"The place is watched," he announced as he entered. "Have you got
a back door? Good! Leave your light burning and we'll go out that
way." They slipped quietly into an inky, tortuous passage which
led back towards Second Street. Floundering through alleys and
over garbage heaps, by circuitous routes, they reached the bridge,
where, in the swift stream beneath, they saw the lights from Mac's
tug.

Steam was up, and when the Captain had let them aboard Dextry gave
him instructions, to which he nodded acquiescence. They bade the
lawyer adieu, and the little craft slipped its moorings, danced
down the current, across the bar, and was swallowed up in the
darkness to seaward. "I'll put out Wheaton's light so they'll
think he's gone to bed."

"Yes, and at daylight I'll take your place in McNamara's loft,"
said Glenister. "There will be doings to-morrow when they don't
find him."

They returned by the way they had come to the lawyer's room,
extinguished his light, went to their own cabin and to bed. At
dawn Glenister arose and sought his place above McNamara's office.