The blond youth surveyed their distance from the great dock and marked its deliberate but deceptive speed.
“I doubt whether we catch it after all,” he remarked with slight interest in his voice.
“Then we'll take a train to Gravesend and get aboard boat there,” planned the American promptly.
A smile glimmered on the long brown face for a moment. “That's very Yankee-like, I believe,” he said complimentarily.
With the brisk friendliness of his nation, the Yankee drew a morocco case from his pocket. “Leonard Madden is my name,” he said as he offered a bit of engraved card.
The Englishman started to reach inside his coat but paused. “I am Caradoc Smith,” he replied gravely. Then, as an afterthought, he drew a small silver-mounted flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, poured it full of a liquor and offered it.
“To a pleasant acquaintance and a profitable journey, Mr. Madden,” he began ceremoniously.
A slight flush reddened the white skin at Madden's collar, but did not show on his tanned face.
