"Exactly. And that of course," continued Copplestone, glancing at Gilling, "that without doubt--in my opinion, anyway--explains those elegant footprints up at the tower. Addie Chatfield, I tell you! She passed me as I was hiding at the entrance to an alley down the Cut here, and she went into an old sail-loft, outside which the tug I spoke of is moored, and into which Andrius had strolled a minute or two previously. But--neither she nor Andrius are there now. They've gone! And Spurge says that at the back of this quay there's a perfect rabbit-warren of courts and alleys, and if--or, rather as they've escaped into that--eh?" The detectives who had accompanied Sir Cresswell on the interrupted expedition to the old tower and who had now followed him and his companions in a second car and arrived in time to hear Copplestone's story, looked at each other. "That's right enough--comparatively speaking," said one. "But if they're in the Warren we shall get 'em out. The first thing to do, gentlemen, is to take a look at that tug." "Exactly!" exclaimed Sir Cresswell. "Just what I was thinking. Let us find out what its people have to say." The man who smoked his pipe in placid contentment on the deck of the tug looked up in astonishment as the posse of eight crossed the plank which connected him with the quay. Nevertheless he preserved an undaunted front, kept his pipe in his tightly closed lips, and cocked a defiant eye at everybody. "Skipper o' this craft?" asked the principal detective laconically. "Right? Where are you from, then, and when did you come in here?" The skipper removed his pipe and spat over the rail. He put the pipe back, folded his arms and glared. "And what the dickens may that be to do with you?" he inquired. "And who may you be to walk aboard my vessel without leave?" "None of that, now!" said the detective. "Come on--we're police officers. There's something wrong round here. We've got warrants for two men that we believe to have been on your tug--one of 'em was seen here not so many minutes ago. You'd far better tell us what you know. If you don't tell now, you'll have to tell later. And--I expect you've been paid already. Come on--out with it!" The skipper, whose gnarled countenance had undergone several changes during this address, smote one red fist on top of the other. "Darned if I don't know as there was something on the crook in this here affair!" he said, almost cheerily. "Well, well--but I ain't got nothing to do with it. Warrants?--you say? Ah! And what might be the partiklar' natur' o' them warrants?" "Murder!" answered the detective. "That's one charge, anyhow--for one of 'em, at any rate. There's others."