Every faculty in Felix was sharpened to its highest pitch as he lay down that night upon his comfortless bed aboard the _Sarah Dawkes_. The man on the wharf was a detective, and he was looking for Veronica. His source of information was doubtless some one of the men aboard the _George Barnes_. He was in the employment of the two wolves, and he had that invaluable clew which the police lacked. He knew that he had to hunt two runaways. There were sure to be persons who had seen them limping along towards the docks that night of terror, of lurid excitement and breathless escape. So long as you knew what you were looking for, they were not hard to trace. "But what beats me," said Felix to himself, "is how it is he did not find out that she was put ashore at Dunhythe. If he has followed up our trail, how could he have missed that? The whole village saw her go." A spasm of fear shook him, lest the shelter of the Cottage Hospital should be inadequate. If her uncle came to fetch her, they would have to hand her over. He raged in his heart, rolling over and over sleepless, wondering whether the detective was "pulling his leg," whether he knew, all the time, where Rona was--whether she was no longer where he left her, but gone, taken away, out of his reach. He yearned to know. But how? The idea crossed his mind that he might steal out, borrow the bicycle of a fellow-workman at the timber-yard, and ride over, before morning, to ascertain that she was safe. But that would be to reveal his secret, were the detective still on the watch. The question was: What would the detective do? Would he go off on that false clew and follow up David Smith to Plymouth? Or had he known all along that Felix was he, in spite of lying? Would he stay in Basingstoke or leave the town? Was he out there watching on the wharf, or had he departed? After a time the suspense grew intolerable. It was a mild night, and David sweated as he lay. After bearing it as long as he could he noiselessly rolled out of bed, and crawled snake-wise along the deck, which was in deep black shadow, took up a post of vantage behind a pile of the timber with which the barge was being gradually loaded, and peeped forth. He saw no man, but he did see from among the bales and trucks that encumbered the wharf a faint glimmer, which meant the bowl of a pipe. He saw it move, as the smoker took it from his mouth, rammed it down with his thumb, and replaced it. It was just out of sight of the night-watchman, whose cabin was clearly to be seen from the deck of the _Sarah Dawkes_. It was the detective, and he was keeping an eye upon the barge. Felix wondered whether he was alone or had a confederate. He did not think it would be hard to give him the slip, if that were all.