"And likely to want," added Broadmayne. "Look alive; let's go aft and see what we can find. I agree as to the clothes. They're not respectable and are decidedly uncomfortable."
The engine-room and officers' cabins on board the Mendez Nunez were right aft under the poop, which, in her case, was flush with the part corresponding to the waist, except for the deck-house abaft the funnel.
A glance down the engine-room hatchway in passing revealed the fact that the place was deserted. Down the companion-ladder Broadmayne crept, his chum close at his heels, their progress marked by a double trail of oil.
"No one at home," remarked Vyse, stopping outside the open door of a cabin marked with a brass plate "El Capitaño." "Looks as if our late shipmates have been here before us."
"So much the better as far as we are concerned," added the Sub. "We'll borrow from the Old Man's wardrobe. Quick! Off with your gear. We can sling our discarded rags through the scuttle."
They stripped, "borrowed" the curtains over the scuttles to remove as much as possible of their coating of oil and then rummaged amongst the lockers under the bunk.
Vyse had spoken truly when he remarked that some one had been there before them, but apparently the pirates were sufficiently well found in the matter of clothing to trouble to steal the Spanish skipper's wardrobe.
In a few minutes the two chums were "arrayed" in garments of sufficient girth, but sadly lacking in length. Evidently El Capitaño was a short and very fat individual, for the Sub found himself wearing a pair of trousers that reached half-way between his ankles and his knees, displaying an expanse of pale blue shirt between the top of the "bags" and the hem of a coat somewhat resembling a monkey-jacket.
Nor was Vyse much better off. He had to content himself with a ridiculously short pair of knee-breeches—part of the Spanish captain's shore-going "plain clothes"—and a blue dressing-gown edged with scarlet silk.
"Look alive!" exclaimed Broadmayne. "They are let loose for'ard. This way!"