CHAPTER XII.
TWO-THIRTY A.M.
Few men or women of sympathetic nature, and gifted with ordinary powers of observation, can go through life without learning, at some time or other in the course of their careers, that circumstances wholly beyond human control can display on occasion a fiendish faculty of converting patent honesty into apparent dishonesty--and that which is true of motive holds equally good in the case of conduct.
The three men standing breathless and unmoved on some unknown wharf on the left bank of the Hudson might fairly be described as superlatively honest persons, nor had they done any act which could be construed as wrongful by the most captious critic; yet McCulloch's concealment of the lamp suggested something thievish and illicit, and, though he alone could give a valid reason for exercising extreme discretion, because he realized, better than the others, what a choice morsel this adventure would supply to the press if ever it became known, both Curtis and Devar listened like himself with bated breath to the oaths and ejaculations which came from the after part of the moored vessel.
"Howly war!" cried one of the startled crew.

"See what's butted into us--the divvle's own battherin'-ram av a scow, an' wid an ilegant lanthern shtuck on her mangy hide, if ye plaze." A ship's lamp bobbed up and down in the gloom, and another voice said gruffly: "Mighty good job we had those fenders out, or she would have knocked a hole in us.

She seems to be wedged in good and hard under our mooring rope; but shin over, Pat, an' make her fast.

Somebody owns the brute, an' there'll be damages to pay for this, an' p'raps salvage as well." The Irishman dropped down into the barge.

The silent trio on the quay heard him walking to the lamp, and saw its dull orb of radiance lifted from the deck.
"Begob, but this is a bit of a fairy tale," came the comment.