“Well,” he replied, “I've found out that we are going to coal from a collier at Cooktown—that's one thing. Another is that there is a dinner-party to be given on shore to the skipper by the saloon passengers on the night after we get there, and most likely the purser is going.”
“Ah,” and Capel's black beady eyes glittered, “that'll be our chance.”
“Yes, we'll be coaling for about sixteen hours, beginning in the afternoon. There will be a dust screen put up just near the purser's cabin, because one of the bunker shoots is just a little for'ard of his door—see?”
“Yes,” and all four men bent eagerly towards Swires.
“Well, there'll be a thundering clatter with the coals as they come pouring down from the upper deck, and that will be the time to get in, cut the wire, and do the job right away. There'll be no one this side of the dust screen after eleven at night, as most of the passengers will be ashore at the dinner, and those who don't go will be asleep.”
“Supposin' the flamin' purser don't go?” said Cheyne, a small, wiry, sunburned man, who, although like his confederates was extremely well-dressed, was an exceedingly illiterate man. He was Australian born, and from his youth upward, when not occupied in horse-stealing or thimble-rigging on bush race-courses, had spent the intervening time in gaol. Pinkerton, who was an American of a somewhat similar type to Cheyne, but of a more villainous nature, was an expert burglar, and a very fitting companion to the astute and well-educated Forreste, and the Jew, Barney Green.
“Well, what if he doesn't?” responded Swires, turning to Forreste; “you've got the stuff for me to give him in his B and S before he turns in. You're always cacklin' about it. Where is it?”
“Here you are,” and Forreste went to his Gladstone bag, opened it, and took out a tin box containing a number of very small unlabeled phials, each holding about ten drops of colourless liquid. “Empty one of these into the tumbler before you put in the brandy, and he'll be dead to the world in ten minutes after he drinks it.”
“I'd like to know how many flimsies there are in that packet,” said Capel.
“We'll know before long,” replied the steward. “It is a good big bundle. I seed the bank clerk give it to him in the saloon, and take a receipt for it, but couldn't get a look to see how much it was for.”