“I’d rather be a dirty stoker than one of your breed!” replied Micky.
“We are going to give you a chance. You can help us navigate to our port of call. The citizen captain is not sure of his exact position. Assist us to obtain a reading and we will honor you by admission to the Benevolent Order of Reds. We intend to raise one billion dollars in Canada and the United States. We shall give you a share in it.”
“To —— with you and your billion!”
Micky screamed, brandishing a broken fist. “Get hout of the gangway!”
“Ye did right,” whispered Mike as Ivan climbed hurriedly through the engine-room companion and disappeared on deck. “Ye were not to be bribed by the scum o’ Russia. Wot’s the answer to the billion dollars?”
Micky stared at the point of the bayonet which crossed the sky over his head. He glanced at the flashing cranks of the cross-compound engines. He raised his voice above the noise of their wallowing passage.
“The answer is this!” he snapped. “They’re going to Victoria and Canada to raise a revolution. There are a lot of Bolsheviki in ’iding—from Victoria to the Atlantic seaboard. This is a plot to start somethin’ against law and order. I’ll smash that big grand juke with a ’ammer the next time ’e talks to me. ‘E’s insulted a British seaman—’e ’as!”
Mike shot a crafty glance at the stokehold door. He scratched his greasy neck.
“A plot?” he said. “Ah hae noo doot we can nip it in the bud. All we got to do is to open the bilge-cocks and drown the rats.”
“And we go down with them?”