Reiger said to Fenner. “Okay, let’s start.”
Fenner stepped back and waited. The Chinamen came on board one by one. Reiger counted them, letting only one come at a time, waiting for Fenner to pass them to Miller, who directed them to the forward cabin. Each Chinaman wore the same clothes, tight shirts and knee-length trousers. They stood sheeplike before Fenner, who patted them down and shoved them over to Miller.
Two more boatloads came out and it all took some time. The scraggy Chinaman, who had stood on the right-hand side of Reiger while this was going on, said, “Okay, that’s the lot. I’ll go back for the special now.”
Reiger said to Miller, “You locked those Chinks in?” His voice sounded uneasy to Fenner.
“Bolts on,” Miller assured him.
Fenner wondered what the ‘special’ was. He sensed a sudden tension between Miller and Reiger. They all waited in the darkness, their ears straining for the long-boat to return. At last they heard the faint splash of oars. Reiger snapped on his torch and, reaching out with a boat-hook, held the long-boat steady.
The scraggy Chinaman climbed on board. He reached down and the oarsman handed a small figure over to him. A quick pull, and the special was aboard.
“Don’t you worry about this,” Reiger said to Fenner.
Fenner flashed his torch on the special. He gave a soft grunt. It was a girl. He’d guessed as much. She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, Chinese, and pretty. She looked very scared and cold. She wore the same tight shirt and knee-length trousers.
With an oath, Reiger struck the torch from his hand. “Keep out of this,” he said between his teeth. “Miller, get her under cover.”