Mike gulped and drew his scrawny neck deep into his collar. He waited until Ivan and the Russians had descended the bridge-ladder and walked slowly aft to where the light streamed from the open cabin door.
“Ye heard that!” grated the engineer with scorn. “Ah thought it was possible to get a thousand rubles a week. Ah expect nothing now. It’s too good to be true. Ah minds the likes o’ that Russian! It was in Guatemala where I was paid three thousand pesos a month. The pesos were worth sixpence on the pound.”
Micky McMasters shook his head.
“Anyway,” he said, “we’re on the first leg ’ome to blighty. We’re gettin’ a free passage. That’s something!”
Mike Monkey went below to the clanking engines. Red Landyard stared forward and aft. He entered the chart-house and turned in across the single seaweed mattress it contained.
Micky stood the watch until midnight. He woke the Yankee mate, gave the course and dropped down into the engine-room. He sat with Mike until two bells. The Scotch-Irish engineer was bitter against the Russians. He rose now and then and peered through the stokehold door, where a lurid light glowed.
“Twa stokers,” he said, “and no fire to speak of.”
Micky glanced around in caution as the engineer came back for the third time.
“Investigate the forehold,” he whispered. “Find out what is in those tea boxes. Don’t let anybody see you doing it. There’s a plot of some kind aboard this ship.”
“They’ve talked enough for a revolution.”