Waiting for the coming back of the conveying dray proved but a slow, dull business, and I was impatiently, at the hour I’ve named, walking up and down, casting an occasional glance at the big last trunk where it stood on end, a bit drawn out and separated from the common mountain of baggage wherewith the wharf was piled. One of the general inspectors, a man I had never seen but whom I knew, by virtue of his rank, to be superior to our chalk-wielding coparcener, also paced the wharf and appeared to bear me company in a distant, non-communicative way. This customs captain and myself, save for an under inspector named Quin, had the dock to ourselves. The boat was long in and most land folk had gotten through their concern with her and wended homeward long before. There were, however, many passengers of emigrant sort still held aboard the ship. As I marched up and down, Lorns came ashore and pretended some business with his superior officer. As he returned to the ship and what duties he had still to perform there, he made a slight signal to both myself and his fellow inspector, Quin, to follow him. I was well known to Lorns, having had several talks with him, while Harris was abroad. Quin I had never met; but it quickly appeared that he was a confidant of Lorns, and while without money interest in our affairs was ready to bear helping hand should the situation commence to pinch. Quin and I went severally and withal carelessly aboard ship, and not at all as though we were seeking Lorns. This was to darken the chief, whom we both surmised to be the cause of Lorn’s signal. Once aboard and gathered in a dark corner, Lorns began at once: “Let me do the talking,” said Lorns with a nervous rapidity that at once enlisted the ears of Quin and myself. “Don’t interrupt, but listen. The chief suspects that last trunk. I can tell it by the way he acts. A bit later, when I come ashore, he’ll ask to have it opened. Should he do so, we’re lost; you and I.” This last was to me. Then to Quin: “Do you see that long, bony Swiss, with the boots and porcelain pipe? He’s in an ugly mood, doesn’t speak English, and within one minute after you return to the wharf, he and I will be entangled in a rough and tumble riot. I’ll attend to that. The row will be prodigious. The chief will be sent for to settle the war, and when he leaves the wharf, Quin, don’t wait; seize on that silk trunk and throw it into the river. There’s iron enough clamped about the corners to sink it; besides, it’s packed so tightly it’s as heavy as lead, and will go to the bottom like an anvil. Then from the pile pull down some trunk similar to it in looks and stand it in its place. It’ll go in the dark. Give the new trunk my mark, as the chief has already read the name on the trunk. Go, Quin; I rely on you.” “You can trust me, my boy,” retorted Quin, cheerfully, and turning on his heel, he was back on the wharf in a moment, and apparently busy about the pile of baggage.