On the deck beneath, Grace rose from her chair and took Count von Hatzfeld's proffered arm. The count had been most persistent in asking for another dance, and to get rid of his importunities, she had consented. Slowly they began to turn to the charming strains of the Fledermaus waltz, their tall, graceful figures making them conspicuous among all the other dancers.
"Say!" exclaimed Bill. "Does ye see that tall gal dancin' wid the guy wid the Dutch whiskers? Ain't she a stunner?"
Armitage's eyes followed those of his mate until they alighted on Grace, when they were immediately arrested. For a few minutes he said nothing, watching in silence the proud beauty who was the cynosure of every eye on deck. With growing interest he took mental note of her dark, flashing eyes, her slender neck and snow-white shoulders, her splendid figure, beautiful hair, and graceful carriage.
"She's pretty, all right!" he muttered, at last. "Look at those pearls round her neck. They're worth a fortune. Isn't she one of those women who came down to the stoke-hold the other day?"
Before Bill could reply there was a flash of lightning, followed by a sharp clap of thunder. The sail-cloths began to flap ominously. On their grimy faces the two stokers felt drops of rain.
"We're in for it!" cried Bill. "Did ye see 'em storm-clouds?"
There was another glare, more vivid than the first, followed almost immediately by a report that left no doubt of the violence of the storm which was fast approaching. The flash revealed a mass of low-lying clouds, swollen with moisture to the bursting point, around which danced lurid green flames. The wind was rising rapidly with a sinister moan. The sea, while still smooth, was seething and covered with foam like water boiling.
"It's goin' to be a corker!" shouted Bill. "Let's get in before it breaks."
Without waiting to see if Armitage was following him, he ran back to the ventilator up which both men had climbed, and disappeared.