'Best, not make a show of her.

Come to our honest friend.' He led him to the post of watch, and they both dropped down and crept under the lee of the boat; a better shelter than it had seemed before, being directly contrasted with the blowing wind and the bare night.
'Mr Inspector at home ?' whispered Eugene.
'Here I am, sir.' 'And our friend of the perspiring brow is at the far corner there?
Good.
Anything happened ?' 'His daughter has been out, thinking she heard him calling, unless it was a sign to him to keep out of the way.

It might have been.' 'It might have been Rule Britannia,' muttered Eugene, 'but it wasn't.
Mortimer!' 'Here!' (On the other side of Mr Inspector.) 'Two burglaries now, and a forgery!' With this indication of his depressed state of mind, Eugene fell silent.
They were all silent for a long while.

As it got to be flood-tide, and the water came nearer to them, noises on the river became more frequent, and they listened more.

To the turning of steam-paddles, to the clinking of iron chain, to the creaking of blocks, to the measured working of oars, to the occasional violent barking of some passing dog on shipboard, who seemed to scent them lying in their hiding-place.