ten o’clock
In quite mechanical fashion I entered the depot . Inspector Ryman , our associate in one of the darkest episodes of the campaign with the Yellow Doctor two years before , received me in his office . By a negative shake of the head , he answered my unspoken question . `` The ten o'clock boat is lying off the Stone Stairs , Doctor , '' he said , `` and co-operating with some of the Scotland Yard men who are dragging that district -- '' I shuddered at the word `` dragging '' ; Ryman had not used it literally , but nevertheless it had conjured up a dread possibility -- a possibility in accordance with the methods of Dr. Fu-Manchu . All within space of an instant I saw the tide of Limehouse Reach , the Thames lapping about the green-coated timbers of a dock pier ; and rising -- falling -- sometimes disclosing to the pallid light a rigid hand , sometimes a horribly bloated face -- I saw the body of Nayland Smith at the mercy of those oily waters . Ryman continued : `` There is a launch out , too , patrolling the riverside from here to Tilbury . Another lies at the breakwater '' -- he jerked his thumb over his shoulder .