“Um,” said Orace, and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “ ’Tain’t sa thunderin’ easy, onner tub this size. . . . I’ll goan seef they’ve gotta fo’c’sle-’atch, f’ya don mine settin’ among the ’awsers.”
She nodded.
“Carry on—and be quick.”
She waited, supporting Algy with one arm. She kept a sharp look-out, and her disengaged hand held Bloem’s automatic, for they could not fail to be seen if anyone passed along that side of the deck. In which case the adventure was likely to terminate without further parley. . . . But luck was with them, and no one came, though they could hear the low voices of the men working aft, the thrum and groan of ropes and blocks and derricks, and the hum and clatter of the small winch. In a very brief space of time she saw Orace slinking back in the shadows.
“What luck?” she demanded softly.
“Didden think they’d ’av wun,” he replied—“but they yav! This wy——”
He led them swiftly to the bows, keeping well down in the lee of the rail. In a short distance they were able to crouch under the bulwarks at the fo’c’sle head.
Orace turned back the tarpaulin and raised the hatch. He shone his torch down to show them the tiny compartment almost filled with coils of hawser.
“ ’Tain’t much,” said Orace apologetically, “but it’s syfe fra bit.”
They got Algy down, and Patricia followed. Orace squeezed in last, and pulled the tarpaulin over again as he lowered the hatch, so that at a casual glance it would not appear to have been tampered with.