"That was Borkins!" he said in a muttered undertone, as the two figures
in front swung away into the shadows. "Did you see his face, lad?"
"I did," responded Dollops, with asperity. "And a fine specimen of a face
it were, too! If I were born wiv that tacked on to me anatomy, I'd drown
meself in the nearest pond afore I'd 'ave courage to survive it.... Yus,
it was Borkins all right, Guv'nor, and the other chap wiv him, the one
wiv the black whiskers and the lanting jor--"
"Hush, boy! Not so loud!" Cleek's voice cut into the whispered undertone,
a mere thread of sound, but a sound to be obeyed. "I recognized him,
too," interrupted Cleek. "My friend of the midnight visit, and the
plugged pillow. I'm not likely to forget that face in a day's march,
I can promise you. And with Borkins! Well, that was to be expected, of
course. The next thing to consider is--what the devil has a common sailor
or factory-hand to do with a chap like Dacre Wynne? Or Merriton, for that
matter. I never heard him say he'd any interest in factories of any kind,
and I dare swear he hasn't.
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