The Turn of the Tide by Fred M. White — Read

In a mean thoroughfare leading off High Street, Wapping, Ellis was seated at a common deal table busy with his typewriter. The room in which he sat was small and almost insufferably stuffy, but that did not seem to trouble him in the slightest. He was accustomed to these discomforts, and even the overpowering smell of fried fish which seemed to dominate the whole atmosphere passed unnoticed. He was dressed in a shabby suit of tweeds, which apparently had recently been disinterred from the rag bag, and a short clay pipe adorned his lips. He worked on for the best part of an hour, upon the special which he was writing for the _Telephone_, and which had a great deal to say with regard to the mission he was engaged upon for his paper. He had just heard from Inspector Lock that the dead body of Bill Avory had been taken out of one of the ponds on Hampstead Heath, and he was debating in his mind as to whether he should introduce the tragedy into his statement, or whether it might be impolitic to do so. Finally he decided to say nothing about it, and make inquiries for himself.

The unexpected death of Avory, which conveyed little enough to the ordinary intelligence, was illuminating to him, in view of his knowledge as to what was going on in connexion with those bold and startling robberies on the river. He did not doubt for a moment that Avory's death had been deliberately brought about by some enemy who had a pressing reason for getting the old sailor out of the way. He was still debating the matter in his mind when the door opened and Geoffrey Rust came in.