He followed her forward with his hand gripped upon the butt of the little silver-plated revolver. The cabins occupied by Harry Raymond and his cockney tool were upon the deck below the boat deck. Saidee Isaacs turned at a ladder, grasped the hand-rail, and went down backwards—like a good sailor.
The deck they both reached was misted and deserted. Four bells had struck, forward. The lights were out in the saloons. The lookouts and watch on deck were crouched in the shelter of the ventilators and boats.
Saidee glided swiftly over the planks, stared at a
number upon a cabin-door, then stepped to the next. She knocked with light tapping. She repeated the signal. She bent her head and listened. Fay braced himself behind a ladder and waited. He saw her straighten suddenly. The cabin door was slid open. A man, in pajamas and slippers, thrust his head out and stared at her.
“Get them up!� said Fay, springing toward the door. “All the way up, Harry, alias Ace-in-the-hole, alias some other things. I want to see you! Look out, Saidee.�
Fay was the master of the hour. He took no chances. The tiny revolver was thrust up and under the sharper’s chin. The level eyes of the cracksman snapped dangerously. Blue light seemed to leap from their depths.
“What to hell?� stuttered the cardsharper. “What does this mean?� he added, forgetting his English drawl.
“It means, come clean!�
“Clean of what?�
“Those glasses you are wearing!� Fay pressed his left hand against the pink expanse of the sharper’s shoulder and shoved him back into the cabin.