Crouching behind the water-tank, the three stowaways waited. They had not long to wait. The hatch was thrown open and a couple of dungaree-clad men carrying electric inspection-lamps descended the ladder. The dazzling glare seemed to penetrate every recess of that confined space, especially while the newcomers were still on the upper rungs of the ladder. But the Spanish engineers did not waste time. They both disappeared through the manhole in the floor, a pair of wavering intermittent beams of light flung upwards through the aperture as they scrambled over the tunnel of the shaft.
Presently, talking rapidly and angrily, the two Spaniards retraced their way. Nothing could be done with the shaft until the Mendez Nunez was dry-docked. Meanwhile the tanker was drifting helplessly, unable to send out a wireless call for assistance.
For the three men hiding in the steerage-flat the time passed very slowly indeed. They could talk in low tones; they were able to leave their cramped quarters behind the tank and stretch their benumbed limbs. They had food of a kind; for liquid refreshment they had to content themselves with the steady drip from a leaky joint, the tank being covered in with a steel lid that could only be removed by the aid of a spanner. They were in Cimmerian darkness, for with the closing of the overhead hatch even the subdued light that had previously been filtering in was entirely cut off. The air, too, was none too pure, mingled as it was with the stench from the bilges, the still present odour of burnt gun-cotton, and a penetrating reek of garlic.
Broadmayne and his companions had no idea of the time. Their watches had long since disappeared. Occasionally they heard the bells struck, but the Spaniards' method of keeping ship's time appeared to differ radically with that of British-owned vessels. And since the flat was in utter darkness, the fugitives were at a loss to know whether it were day or night.
"Think it's safe to go on deck?" inquired Vyse
"No, I don't," replied Broadmayne, emphatically. "The Dagoes have quieted down a bit; but the sight of us would probably be like that of a red rag to a bull. We couldn't explain; they wouldn't listen, if we could. No; we must stick it. The tanker's bound to be picked up and towed into port, and from her position it's an eighty per cent. chance in favour of a British port."
Not very long after there were unmistakable signs that the Mendez Nunez was being taken in tow. The sluggish rolling motion gave place to a succession of jerks. The water no longer splashed against the hull plating. It gurgled as it ran past the rudder, while the clanking of the steam-steering gear announced that the tanker was again using her helm.
"That's good!" commented Broadmayne. "Who's for a caulk? I'll keep watch if you would like to have a snooze."
This suggestion was acted upon, Soames relieving the Sub at the end of about two hours, as nearly as he was able to guess the passing of time. Then Vyse took on, and at the end of his trick all three finished up the remains of the last loaf.
They were feeling ravenous again when they felt the tanker's hull bump against something, and heard the crew running along the deck and the dull thud of wire-hawsers being brought to the winches.