By the time these various preliminary tasks were completed Swaine had recovered from the effects of his perilous adventure. Siegfried Strauss, too, was out of danger and gave but little trouble. His arm was healing slowly, and he seemed grateful to his rivals for their kind and generous treatment.
Swaine bore him no ill will on account of the submarine fight. He willingly accepted Strauss' explanation that he thought Swaine was about to attack him and that he was obliged to take action. Strauss was the loser, and had paid the price for it. The matter was over and done with: that was Swaine's summing up of the case.
On the other hand, every member of the Titania's crew felt that they had an account to settle with Kaspar von Giespert. The fellow hadn't played the game from the very beginning, and his treachery in dispatching a boat's crew to blow up the wreck, and, as he hoped, most of the members of Harborough's party as well, put him beyond the bounds of decency.
Strauss freely admitted that his employer had acted treacherously, and that von Giespert was filled with a mad rage for revenge at being baulked of his chance of getting the treasure. He also volunteered the information that von Giespert intended to take the Zug back to European waters directly the boat's crew returned. And, since they weren't in a position to return, it was safe to assume that von Giespert would not risk searching for them, but, after giving up all hope of their safety, would carry out his original programme of leaving Ni Telang and making for home.
The two Germans captured by Dick Beverley did not take kindly to their detention. Not from any sense of devotion to von Giespert did they attempt to escape, but because they were under the erroneous impression that their employer was on the right track after all and was about to gain possession of the gold. They had heard von Giespert say that he meant to sink the Titania and gain possession of the booty by force of arms, and, since they did not like the prospect of being under lock and key on the yacht when she was attacked, they took steps to regain their freedom.
It was a bright moonlight night when they put their crudely-formed plan into execution. Although Griffiths was on guard outside the door of their cabin-cell, he heard no suspicious noises. Working desperately and silently, the Huns removed a portion of the inch match-boarding that separated their cabin from the one adjoining, which happened to be three cabins knocked into one and utilized as a store for hydroplanes. Since the two Cormorants were no longer in existence, the fairly-expansive compartment was empty save for a few tools, coils of rope, and kegs of paint and varnish.
One of the doors leading to the alley-way was unlocked—unlocked doors being the rule rather than the exception on board.
They waited until they heard the sentry go for'ard, for Griffiths was pacing up and down the whole length of the alley-way, then they silently crept to the accommodation-ladder and gained the deck.
Merridew and Fontayne, the watch on deck, were at that moment pacing the port side, conversing in low tones in order not to disturb their sleeping mess-mates. Knowing that Griffiths was on duty below, they never troubled about the prisoners—it was not their "pigeon". Their particular duty was to see that the Zug didn't pay a nocturnal visit with sinister intent to the lagoon at Nua Leha.
In the midst of Fontayne's elaborate description of his "castle in the air", Merridew laid one hand firmly upon his companion's shoulder.