Mr. Reeder did not wait for the answer, but, with surprising agility, drew himself up on to the narrow deck of the barge. He looked round with mild interest. The hatches were off, and he had a good view of the cargo. “Bricks are very interesting things,” he said pleasantly. “Without bricks we should have no houses; without straw we should have no bricks. It seems therefore a very intelligent act to pack bricks in straw, to remind them, as it were, of what they owe to this humble--um--vegetable.” Ligsey did not speak, but swallowed something. “What I want to know,” Mr. Reeder went on, and his eyes were never still, “is this. Would it be possible to hire this barge?” “You’ll have to ask the captain about that,” said Ligsey huskily. His none too clean face was a shade paler. The stories of Reeder that had come down the river had gained in the telling. He was credited with supernatural powers of divination; his knowledge and perspicuity were unbounded. For the first time in years Ligsey found himself confronted with the slowly-moving machinery of the law; it was a little terrifying and his emotions were not at all what he had anticipated. He used to tell Joe Attymar: “… If they ever come to me I’ll give ’em a saucy answer.” And here “they” had come to him, but no saucy answer hovered on his lips. He felt totally inadequate. “When are you expecting the captain?” asked Mr. Reeder, in his blandest manner. “To-night or to-morrow--I don’t know,” stammered Ligsey. “He’ll pick us up, I suppose.” “Gone ashore for dispatches?” asked Mr. Reeder pleasantly. “Or possibly to wire to the owners? No, no, it couldn’t be that: he _is_ the owner. How interesting! He’ll be coming off in a few moments with sealed orders under his arm. Will you tell me”--he pointed to the hold--“why you leave that square aperture in the bricks? Is that one of the secrets of packing, or shall I say stowage?” Ligsey went whiter. “We always leave it like that,” he said, and did not recognize the sound of his own voice. Mr. Reeder would have descended to the cabin, but the hatch was padlocked. He did invite himself down to the little cubby-hole in the bow of the boat where Ligsey and the boy slept; and, strangely enough, Mr. Reeder carried in his pocket, although it was broad daylight, a very powerful electric hand-lamp which revealed every corner of Ligsey’s living place as it had never been revealed before. “Rather squalid, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Reeder. “A terrible thing to have to live in these circumstances and conditions. But of course one can live in a much worse place.” He made this little speech after his return to the fresh air of the deck, and was fanning himself with the brim of his high-crowned hat.