“Then I’ll tell you when we do get it,” Elliott answered; and at that moment another case came down the hatch, and Bennett followed it, breaking off the conversation. But the girl’s “not yet” left a glow of excitement and exultation in Elliott’s heart for the rest of the day.
Two more of the missing chests were located at last and sent up. A fourth had been burst; it might have been the very one which Bennett had opened while imprisoned in the hold, and the contents were scattered. After some consultation, Elliott went down again and sent the bricks up in a canvas sack, three at a time, packed in hay to disguise the weight. By the time this was accomplished, it was near sunset, and already growing too dark to see in the hold. Henninger fumed impatiently, but without electric lights it was impossible to work under water after sunset. Besides, the boxes in the after-hold could not by any possibility be reached that night.
Elliott struggled that night between sleepy exhaustion and excited wakefulness, and the rest of the party were in a similar state. All night long he could hear frequent movements; a dozen times he started up anxiously at some sound, only to find that it was the armed guard over the hatchway, but toward morning he slept heavily for a couple of hours.
Work was resumed as soon as a diver could see in the steamer’s hold. After looking through all the mass of freight, and turning over much of it with a lever, the missing cases were at last discovered, and one by one hoisted aboard.
“Now for the other half of the ship,” said Henninger, turning his eyes toward the wreck on the reef. “I rather fancy we’ll have to dynamite a hole in her side—good God!”
They followed his pointing finger and stood stupefied. Off the eastward end of the island a small steamer was lying, a faint haze of smoke drifting from her funnel, and the red British ensign flying at her peak.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE BATTLE ON THE LAGOON
“How did that ship get so close without our seeing her?” cried Henninger, fiercely. “Who was on the lookout?”
It appeared that every one aboard the dhow had been too deeply interested in the salvage operations, and that nobody had been on the lookout at all. The chief snatched up a glass and stared long at the strange vessel, which lay absolutely motionless and perhaps a mile away.
“We’d better clear out. She’s a Britisher—as like as not a gunboat,” Hawke muttered, nervously.