But once more his luck held. As he swam slowly along, pondering this problem, he ran right into a rope ladder which hung down from the deck. It couldn’t have been more conveniently provided if he had asked for it to be lowered against his arrival, but a little thought gave him the reason for its presence. It must have been dropped for the Tiger and his principals to come aboard, and since then the tide must have swung the ship right round on her moorings. And there it was, temporarily forgotten, and just the very thing he wanted.
The noise of the donkey-engine, throttled down though it was, and the creaking of the derricks which were taking the gold on board, was louder now, and he could hear the sound of sea-boots grating on the deck, and the subdued voices of men. As far as he could gather on his way up they were working on the after hold, for he heard nothing from directly above him.
The Saint came level with the deck and peeped over. All was clear at that point and forrard of it, but he could see a few figures clustered round the small hatch aft, and an arm of timber stood out against the sky with a square case dangling at the end of it. Fortunately, they were all intent on their task, and already he had banked on the ship being short-handed, so that all the crew there was would be occupied with other things than loafing about getting in his way. With a quick heave the Saint gained the rail, went over, and landed on the deck without sound. Facing him was an open door and a companion-way. He jumped for it.
On the first step he paused and listened, but the work was going steadily on, and clearly nobody had noticed the dripping dark shape that had slipped over the rail and leapt across the exposed bit of deck.
“So far, so very good!” said the Saint, and a smile of joyous anticipation flitted across his lips. “Once aboard the lugger and the gold is mine!”
The companion ran down into a dimly lighted alleyway, and there the Saint hesitated. That was a risky place to loiter in. Cabins were also risky—they needed only the turning of a key to turn them into prisons. But he wanted a few seconds to rest and plan the next move, and had to take his chance.
There was a promising-looking door right opposite him, and he tiptoed across the alley and turned the handle very softly. But the door must have been locked, for his gently increasing pressure failed to make it budge. The Saint was promptly intrigued by that locked door. It immediately drove all thoughts of safety and rest and scheming out of his head, and in his reckless fashion he resolved to have a look inside that cabin with the least possible delay, whether it was occupied or not—and, listening with his ear to a panel, he came to the conclusion that the unbroken silence within laid more than a shade of odds on its being empty. But to open a locked door required more implements than he had on him, and he was about to go in search of the engine-room workshop to collect suitable apparatus when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
In a flash he located their origin—round the nearest corner of the passage. The Saint retreated a little way up his companion-ladder—an unwise move, since it left him with a very groggy line of withdrawal if the man glimpsed him and raised the alarm; but Simon, ever an opportunist, was curious to see who it was had time to spend below when all hands were toiling to get the cargo loaded in the shortest practicable time.
He peeped one eye round the angle of the bulkhead, and then drew back sharply.
It was Bloem, carrying a tray on which was a plate with a pile of sandwiches and a siphon. The Saint glanced back over his shoulder, but behind him the deck was still deserted, though he was in imminent danger of discovery by anyone who happened to pass and glance down. For an instant he meditated flight—but only for an instant. The deck would be an unhealthy place for Simon Templar to wander around just then, and, besides, there was the door to open and Bloem to tail up in case the Boer were bringing the Tiger a little supper.