He emerged into the larger cabin to find that Helen Marr had vanished. The rifle lay across the table, and her knitted tam-o'-shanter was hanging from one corner of the piano; the deck light had been thrown open, and the companionway was unbarred.
Stirling strode through the curtain and tested the door which led to the sailor's cabin. It was locked. A bitter protest in Frisco slang greeted his query. He hesitated. The girl had eluded him in some manner. She had gone on deck.
He crossed the alleyway, cocked the rifle, and burst into the larger cabin. Up the steps which led to the companion he climbed with savage strength, and the light of dawning day and the gust of salty air which filled his lungs cleared his brain. He stared about the quarter-deck, then dropped the rifle's butt down upon his boot.
The girl, bareheaded and with ribbons flying, was sitting in a deck chair; near by were the Russian leader and two other revolutionists. They turned as she laughed buoyantly, but the leader frowned and reached for his pocket. Stirling raised the rifle and swung it under his arm.
"Good morning, Mr. Stirling," called the girl. "Come aft with me. These poor men are not our enemies. They're lost and want a pilot."
Stirling lowered the muzzle of the rifle, but still eyed the leader, and his lips grew hard and level with suspicion. He raised his shoulders slightly.
The girl saw the motion and sprang out of the deck chair with a cry. "They're only big boys!" she exclaimed. "I was playing the piano and singing—while you were sleeping. One song they liked, and the leader knocked on the glass and called to me. There were tears in his eyes. He's escaped from Siberia and wants to get to America. They all have escaped, Mr. Stirling. They wouldn't harm anybody!"
Stirling remembered the carnage when the revolutionists took the ship. But perhaps they had thought that the Pole Star's crew would resist and therefore had anticipated an expected attack. And they seemed to have treated the girl with the attention due a princess. A cushion was at the foot of the deck chair; tea steamed in a kettle; crackers had been brought from the galley.
"I think you had better go below," said Stirling glancing at the girl's upturned face.
"Speak to them; they don't mean us any harm."