CHAPTER II.
ON THE SCENT.
Fourth Officer Aubyn knew that it was for no ordinary purpose that he had been sent with a message to the chief engineer. It was most unusual for a deck-officer to have to go to the engine-room on duty. There was something beyond a normal anxiety to know when the ship would be able to raise steam that caused Captain Ramshaw to make an inquiry from the bridge without using the telephone.
It was a diplomatic stroke on the part of the "old man." He knew by experience that McBride could be easily led, while on the other hand the dour old Scotsman would not be driven. It was not a case of preferential treatment in the case of the chief engineer. Captain Ramshaw invariably treated all his subordinates alike, giving his orders in a bland, courteous manner that rarely failed to produce an instant response on the part of those with whom he had to come in contact. Yet from the chief officer down to the pantry-boy no one on board would dare to take undue advantage of the skipper's courtesy. Woe betide the unlucky man to whom Captain Ramshaw had to give the same order twice. There had been instances, but not on board the SS. "Saraband." The good understanding between the captain, officers, and crew made her the counterpart of a "happy ship" in the Royal Navy.
But now, for the first time on record during Captain Ramshaw's command, a dirty piece of work had been done on board—seemingly unaccountably. Some one in the engine-room had committed a dastardly crime. Captain Ramshaw would not rest until the culprit had been spotted; for with the safety of the ship, passengers, crew, and cargo, and in the interests of the owners, it was absolutely necessary to discover the identity of the offender.
Terence opened the door of the engine-room and paused. Between the bars of the "fidley" wafts of hot air and steam, mingled with the nauseating odours of burning oil, eddied upwards. At his feet gaped a vague, ill-lighted cavern, the only approach to which was by means of a series of short, shining steel ladders.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom the outlines of the gleaming masses of intricate machinery became apparent; a bewildering array of polished steel, copper, and brass. A subdued roar, mingled with the clatter of drills and tapping of hammers and men's voices shouting peremptory orders came from the metal cavern. The auxiliary engines, for supplying power to the derricks and for lighting purposes, were fortunately intact.
It was new ground to Terence Aubyn, and hardly a place where "white ducks" could be considered de rigeur. Grasping the hand-rail he descended cautiously till his feet came in contact with the slippery iron gangway by the side of the now motionless piston-heads. At the extremity of the platform, confronted by a number of indicators, the senior engineers on duty were generally to be found; but McBride was not there.
Another length of vertical ladder had to be negotiated, with seemingly little space for the descending man between the rungs and a complication of gleaming copper pipes that threatened to hit him in the back. To add to Aubyn's discomfort, the motion of the vessel in the trough of the sullen rollers was unpleasantly noticeable. On deck he revelled in the undulating movement. In the stuffy engine-room it was very different.
"A proper death-trap if anything goes wrong," thought he. "Thank goodness I'm a deck-officer."