None of your romantic low-lying, rakish
craft of the old smuggling yarns was this, ready for deeds of
desperation in the dark hours of midnight. It was just a modern
little motor-boat, up-to-date, and swift.
"Perhaps we'll get out of this finally," I grumbled as I understood
now what was afoot, "but not in time to be of any use."
A smothered sound as of something going over the vessel's side
followed. It was one of the boxes which we had seen outside in
the storeroom. Another followed, and a third and a fourth.
Then came a subdued parley. "We have two customs detectives locked
in a cabin here. We can't stay now. You'll have to take us and
our things off, too."
"Can't do it," called up another muffled voice. "Make your things
into a little bundle. We'll take that, but you'll have to get past
the night-watchman yourselves and meet us at Riverledge."
A moment later something else went over the side, and from the
sound we could infer that the engine of the motor-boat was being
started.
A Voice sounded mockingly outside our door. "Bon soir, you fellows
in there. We're going up the dock. Sorry to leave you here till
morning, but they'll let you out then. Au revoir."
Below I could hear just the faintest well-muffled chug-chug.
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