Not far from him, leaning on the rail, a stockily built young fellow in overalls, a cap pulled down firmly over his well-shaped head, was apparently watching the gulls and the passing boats, with eyes no less blue than the bay itself; eyes no less glinting than the sunlight on the waves.

He seemed to be paying no heed to anything but what lay before him.

But "Tiger" Waldron, possessed of something of the instinct of the beast whose name he bore, subconsciously sensed a peril in his nearness.
The man's ear--if unusually quick--might, just _might_ possibly have caught a word or two meant for no interloper.

And at that thought, Waldron once more nudged his partner.
"Shhh!" he repeated, "Enough.

We can finish this, in the limousine." Flint looked at him a moment, in silence, then nodded.
"Right you are," said he.