"Caught a
glimpse of 'im 'long by the Saltfleet Road this afternoon, Guv'nor, and
thinks I to myself, 'You're the blinkin' blighter wot tried to do the
Guv'nor in, are you? Well, you wait, my lad! There's a little taste of
'ell-sauce a-comin' your way wot'll make you sit up and bawl for yer
muvver.' He'd got on sailorin' togs, Mr. Cleek, an' a black 'at pulled
down low over one eye. Mate wiv 'im looked like a real bad 'un. Gold
rings in 'is ears 'e'd got like a bloomin' lydy, an' a blue sweater, and
sailor's breeches. Chin whiskers, too, wot were somethin like rotten
seaweed. Oh, a 'eavenly specimen of a chap 'e were, I kin tell you!"
"On the Saltfleet Road, eh?" interposed Cleek, rapidly, as the boy paused
a moment for breath. "So? My midnight friend is doubtless sailing for
foreign parts, as the safest place when coroner's evidence begins to get
too hot for him. And what then, Dollops?"
"Couldn't find out much else, Mr. Cleek, 'cept to trace the place where
the beggar 'angs out, and that's a bit of a shanty just off Saltfleet
Bay, an' a stone's throw from what looks ter me very like a boat-factory
of some kind.
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