Somewhere in the depths of the _Moon_ a bell tinkled. Immediately the great paddle reversed, churning the river surface into dirty foam, and we began to sidle against the pier-end. Fore and aft, lines were run out and made fast by a dim figure that flitted from behind the woodricks. The mate growled an order, and a gangplank joined the _Moon's_ deck to the wharf. Down this we filed, his Sorrel Whiskers glanced over one shoulder at me.

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