“His gun. Me, I grabs somethin’ else. This. Now you know as much as I do, unless you know more.”
Drake stared at him, then dropped his eyes.
“And if I do?”
“Cray and the Old Man know a heap. My guess is there’s been robbery; and now it looks like murder. Like as not the search’ll narrer down. Scotland Yard ain’t manned by fools. Like as not there’ll be other messages. Liverpool runt’s been cleared. He don’t pack no valuables. There’s seven new faces aboard beside him, leavin’ Cray out. If things gets hot and they start to search the lot—well—him that has them jewels is like to swing.”
“Unless—” Drake seemed to be master of himself now—“unless!”
“Unless the lad slipped ’em to a good natur’d old fool of an engineer. There’s places below.” Old M’Ginley winked. “Well, if you meet the man aboard here, you tell him.”
“Thanks, I will. Cray’s blind’s gone up.” Drake rose. “I’m going to have a chin with him.”
“If there’s one thing more’n another has hanged fool men, it’s words,” M’Ginley warned, and left him.
Cray grinned as Drake opened the door.
“You—you heard anything?” Drake asked, nervously.