See this,' and he handed to Racksole a sort of steel skewer, about two feet long, with a wooden handle.

'That,' he said, 'is one of the Customs' aids to searching.' 'I suppose it wouldn't do to go on board and carry off the lady ?' Racksole suggested doubtfully.
'Well,' Hazell began, with equal doubtfulness, 'as for that--' 'Where's 'e orf ?' It was the man in the bows who interrupted Hazell.
Following the direction of the man's finger, both Hazell and Racksole saw with more or less distinctness a dinghy slip away from the forefoot of the Norwegian vessel and disappear downstream into the mist.
'It's Jules, I'll swear,' cried Racksole.

'After him, men.

Ten pounds apiece if we overtake him!' 'Lay down to it now, boys!' said Hazell, and the heavy Customs boat shot out in pursuit.
'This is going to be a lark,' Racksole remarked.
'Depends on what you call a lark,' said Hazell; 'it's not much of a lark tearing down midstream like this in a fog.

You never know when you mayn't be in kingdom come with all these barges knocking around.