The night-watchman nodded. "I know his sort," he remarked, with sarcasm. "But I'll give 'im a bit to stay his stomach, for all that." Felix nodded, and slipped away. His stockinged feet made no noise on the wharf; and for a moment, as he saw the attitude of the sleeping detective, he had a mind to leave his breakfast and walk past him then and there. But two reasons withheld him--hunger for one thing, and the fear that the man might be shamming. Ten minutes later, peering through his tiny window, he saw that the spy was sitting up and stretching himself, after which he rose slowly and began to stamp about on the wharf, and to flap his arms vigorously, to restore the circulation. Then he came to the edge, close to the barge, and whistled. Felix took no notice. He had taken the precaution to push the _Sarah Dawkes_ off from the wharf, when embarking, so that the gang-plank would be required by anyone trying to board her. He breathed a devout thanksgiving that he had done so, for otherwise he would have been invaded, without doubt. The man loafed along, stooping his head, trying to see in through dirty windows, and whistling from time to time. But Felix made no sign. When the stranger had occupied about five minutes wandering up and down, the night-watchman was seen to emerge from an open door whence came a smell of fried fish, appetizing enough to one who had passed the night in the open. The supposed tramp was accosted--halted--and as Felix had hoped, succumbed, and was drawn into the cabin, and the door shut. "Want to speak to 'im?" he heard the night-watchman say, as they moved away. "Well, you'll 'ave time for that, 'e don't turn out not till just on the 'arf-hour." He waited three minutes--just until the two were sitting down to their feast--and then stepped ashore, and walked off quietly until he was round the corner where the huge piles of timber hid him. Then he took to his heels and ran until he came to the Doggett mansion, situated in Marsh Lane. Now, Doggett had known that they were fugitives, though he saw no reason to disbelieve the story that Rona was his sister. Felix asked him straight out not to give him away. He told him a detective was hanging about on the wharf pretending to be out of work; and that if he asked what became of the boy who came from London with him, he was to say that he was tramping towards Plymouth, in order to leave the country, and had taken his sister with him.