As they came up, hand over fist, the dinghy's nose swerved aside, and the tiny craft passed down a water-lane between two anchored mineral barges, which lay black and deserted about fifty yards from the Surrey shore.

'To starboard,' said Racksole.

'No, man!' Hazell replied; 'we can't get through there.

He's bound to come Out below; it's only a feint.

I'll keep our nose straight ahead.' And they went on, the fat man pounding away, with a face which glistened even in the thick gloom.