They glanced up toward a red-faced, hectoring sort of person who regarded them with evident disfavor. Some ships, loading for Central American ports at out-of-the-way wharves, do not want uniformed police on their decks. The two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased operations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many interested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had noted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had he missed the police boat. "What the--" he commenced; but the detective's stern question stopped an outburst. "Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?" "Mr. Vane--yes." "Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?" "I don't see--" "Let me explain, captain. I'm from the detective bureau. The man I am inquiring for is wanted on several charges." The steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no cringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure. "Well, I'm--" he growled. "Here, you," roaring at a man beneath, "go aft and tell Mr. Vane he's wanted on the bridge." The messenger vanished. "I assume there _is_ a young lady on board?" went on Steingall. "I'm told so. I haven't seen her." "Surely you know every one who has a right to be on the ship?" "Guess that's so, mister, an' who has more right than the daughter of the man who puts up the dough for the trip? Strikes me you're makin' a hash of things. But here's Mr. Vane. He'll soon put you where you belong." Advancing from the after state-rooms came Voles. He was looking at the bridge, but the police-captain was hidden momentarily by the chart-room. He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot on the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf. Turning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw's grasp. Then Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had seen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows darkened his soul at that moment. CHAPTER XXVII THE SETTLEMENT The chief disliked melodrama in official affairs. Any man, even a crook, ought to know when he is beaten, and take his punishment with a stiff upper lip. But Voles's face was white, and in one of his temperament, that was as ominous a sign as the bloodshot eyes of a wild boar. Steingall had hoped that Voles would walk quietly into the chart-room, and, seeing the folly of resistance, yield to the law without a struggle. Perhaps, under other conditions, he might have done so. It was the coming of Fowle that had complicated matters.