Malvin’s rejoinder was peculiar. He did not, in fact, address it to Harry at all. He placed his mouth over the scuttle and in a loud voice, unnecessarily loud it sounded to Harry, he bawled out:
“Oh, all right, sir. Go below if you want to. But—LOOK OUT BELOW—there’s some low carlins there you might bump your head on.”
The last part of this speech was delivered in low and cautionary tones. Having uttered the warning, Malvin turned and, with a respectful nod, paced back to his post of duty.
“Now I wonder why he hollered, ‘Look out below,’ at the top of his lungs like that?” pondered Harry.
“Well, I’ll give it up,” he murmured, renewing his meditations. “Anyhow, here goes for an exploration of the forecastle.”
He dived below, having first switched on the electric light in the sailors’ quarters by means of a switch at the head of the ladder leading below.
As he descended the steep rungs, not without difficulty, for the River Swallow was being driven fast and was pitching and rolling considerably, he looked sharply about him. But there was nothing to indicate that anyone was in hiding there. In the men’s bunks the beds were neatly made up. In one corner were their chests and personal belongings. Everything was shipshape, orderly and—empty.
“It was my imagination then, after all,” breathed Harry as he looked about him; “I’m glad I didn’t say anything to the fellows.”
At precisely the same moment, Ralph was remarking to Persimmons, the latter having come on deck to gulp down a breath of fresh air:
“Don’t say anything about the sanded carburetors to Harry, Percy. He’s scared enough as it is.”