"Will they set us ashore to-night, do you think?" asked Colonel Vivian.
Before Alwyn could reply the door was thrown open, and the engineer officers of both watches entered. That was a sign that their work in the engine-room was finished.
In the dim light no one noticed that Withers was not with them, but that instead there was a stranger, a tall, slender fellow of almost Withers's height and build, rigged out in the company's uniform, and with the peaked cap raked jauntily over the left eye. And until the "fellow" went straight up to the Colonel and took hold of his hands, even Burgoyne failed to recognize Hilda Vivian.
"We couldna let the wee lassie bide there," declared Angus apologetically, as if he were ashamed of having brought her along. "An' ye ken fine why."
"And where's Withers?" asked Burgoyne.
The old Scot shook his head.
"A' would do it," he declared, and went on to explain that the Second Engineer had insisted in donning a fireman's boiler-suit and giving his uniform to Miss Vivian.
"An' in the gloamin' they'll no ken the difference," he concluded.
"So far so good," soliloquized Alwyn. "But in daylight there may be quite a different story. The rascals have seen Withers and the other fellow going in and out of the engine-room. They'll twig a strange officer in a trice, I'm afraid."
But a glance at Hilda convinced him that running the risk had its compensations. The girl, even in her sorrow at her mother's death, was happy at being reunited to her father—her sole surviving relative. Clearly she was taking little or no thought for the morrow.