"Coming!" whispered Stainsby. He was getting so excited that he could hardly breathe the word. But he made an effort and got out two more. "There! Now!"
The two detectives went slowly and quietly behind Thomas Wraypoole and his companion as he reached the gangway and produced his passports. The official who examined glanced them over, glanced the man and woman over, and handed them back. And Wraypoole was signing the woman to step forward up the gangway when the elder detective tapped him on the elbow.
"Mr. Thomas Wraypoole?" he said. "Mrs. Wraypoole? Just so!—A word with you, Mr. Wraypoole, if you'll step inside a minute."
Unseen himself Stainsby was eagerly watching his old master. He saw Wraypoole turn, start, stare at the two men, and turn white to his eyes: he saw his lips open. But he saw that no sound came from them. The next sound Stainsby heard was from the elder detective as he drew Wraypoole inside the shed, close to the pile of goods behind which the apprentice was concealed.
"We're police-officers, Mr. Wraypoole, and we've a warrant for your arrest! You'd better———"
