CHAPTER IX
THE SALVING OF S.S. MILO
Major Vigoreux awoke at daybreak with a vague sense that something important had happened or was going to happen—a feeling he had not known for years. It was so strange that he sat up wondering, rubbing the back of his head.
Then he remembered, and called out to Sergeant Archelaus.
Sergeant Archelaus appeared, a moment later, ready dressed, and on more than usually good terms with himself. He had indued his master's trousers, and, save for an unfashionable bagginess at the hips, they fitted him surprisingly well.
"Good morning, Archelaus. Did you happen to hear, last night, at what time the Milo weighs anchor?"
"I heard the captain, sir, tell the pilots to be aboard at half-after-seven. But with a vessel of her size you may count on their waiting till high-water or thereabouts."
"In any case"—the Commandant consulted his watch—"we have not too much time. Where is Treacher?"
"Downstairs, sir, along with his missus, stoking the kitchen fire, with mattresses built up before it like a sandbag battery. Seems to me the woman's been spending half the night airing one thing and another. She says the place is like a vault. Not," added Archelaus, magnanimously, "that I mind her talk."