When he reappeared he was dragged into the Customs boat.

Rope was produced, and in a minute or two the man lay ignominiously bound in the bottom of the boat.

With the aid of a mudlark--a mere barge boy, who probably had no more right on the barge than Jules himself--Racksole had won his game.

For the first time for several weeks the millionaire experienced a sensation of equanimity and satisfaction.

He leaned over the prostrate form of Jules, Hazell's professional skewer in his hand.
'What are you going to do with him now ?' asked Hazell.
'We'll row up to the landing steps in front of the Grand Babylon.