spanned by the bridge. The waterline of the whole dock was painted a
bright red, some four feet high, and above this rose an expanse of raw
black iron, punctuated with long rows of shining rivet heads.

The boatman was rowing at top speed and bellowing like an asthmatic fog
horn. "We'll never git nobody," he wheezed. "Nobody seems to stay around
this section of th' dock, sor."

Madden raised a lusty shout; the great structure was slowly increasing
her speed.

"Yell, Smith, yell!" he counseled between shouts. "We may not be able to
get a train to Gravesend in time!"

"I'm not that eager to go," observed the Englishman with a shrug.

The dory was falling behind. Madden leaped up, ran to the oars and began
pushing as the boatman pulled. Their united efforts just kept the blunt
little dory in the hissing wake of the dock.

"Help! Line! Aboard dock! Lend a line!" the two of them roared
discordantly.

"We're not going to make it!" cried Madden desperately. "Lend a hand
here, Smith!"

At that moment a dark head with sharp black mustaches popped over the
stern of the dock.

"Ah-ha! A race!" cried the man above in a French accent. "Come, Mike,