Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage.
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