Mr. Reeder then learned about Joe Attymar, the barge-master, of the little wharf at the end of Shadwick Lane, and the barge _Allanuna_ that went up and down the Thames year in and year out and brought bricks. He did not hear at that moment, or subsequently, what part the Legation played, or which Legation it was, or if there was any Legation at all. In justice to his acumen it must be said that he doubted this part of the story from the first, and the theory at which he eventually arrived, and which was probably correct, was that the part he was called upon to play was to stampede Attymar and his associates into a betrayal of their iniquity. For this was at a period when Mr. Reeder’s name and appearance were known from one end of the river to the other, when there was hardly a bargee or tug-hand who could not have drawn, and did not draw, a passable caricature of that worthy man who had been instrumental in breaking up one of the best-organized gangs of river thieves that had ever amalgamated for an improper purpose. Mr. Reeder scratched his nose and his lips drooped dolefully. “I was hoping--um--that I should not see that interesting stream for a very long time.” He sat down and listened patiently to a string of uninteresting facts. Joe Attymar brought bricks up the river--had been bringing them for many years--at a price slightly lower than his competitors. He carried for four builders, and apparently did a steady, if not too prosperous, trade. He was believed locally to be rolling in money, but that is a reputation which Shadwick Lane applied to any man or woman who was not forced at frequent intervals to make a call at the local pawnshop. He kept himself to himself, was unmarried, and had no apparent interests outside of his brick lighterage. “Fascinating,” murmured Mr. Reeder. “It sounds almost like a novel, doesn’t it?” After he had gone.… “I don’t see what there is fascinating about it,” said Mason, who did not know Mr. Reeder very well. “That’s his idea of being funny,” said Gaylor. It was a week later, and the _Allanuna_ lay at anchor off Queensborough, when a small boat, rowed by a local boatman, carrying a solitary passenger, came slowly out, under the watchful and suspicious eye of Ligsey. The boat rowed alongside the barge, and Ligsey had a view of a man with a square hat and lopsided pince-nez, who sat in the stern of the boat, an umbrella between his legs, apparently making a meal of the big handle! And, seeing him, Ligsey, who knew a great deal about the river and its scandals, started up from his seat with an exclamation. He was blinking stupidly at the occupant of the boat when Mr. Reeder came up to him. “Good morning,” said Mr. Reeder. Ligsey said nothing. “I suppose I should say ‘afternoon,’” continued the punctilious Mr. Reeder. “Is the captain aboard?” Ligsey cleared his throat. “No, sir, he ain’t.” “I suppose you wouldn’t object if _I_ came aboard?”