And he was back again in a moment, cooking the new log. Goddedaal’s was then carefully destroyed, and a hunt began for the ship’s papers. Of all the agonies of that breathless morning this was perhaps the most poignant. Here and there the two men searched, cursing, cannoning together, streaming with heat, freezing with terror. News was bawled down to them that the ship was indeed a man-of-war, that she was close up, that she was lowering a boat; and still they sought in vain. By what accident they missed the iron box with the money and accounts is hard to fancy, but they did. And the vital documents were found at last in the pocket of Trent’s shore-going coat, where he had left them when last he came on board.
Wicks smiled for the first time that morning. “None too soon,” said he. “And now for it! Take these others for me; I’m afraid I’ll get them mixed if I keep both.”
“What are they?” Carthew asked.
“They’re the Kirkup and Currency Lass papers,” he replied. “Pray God we need ’em again!”
“Boat’s inside the lagoon, sir,” hailed down Mac, who sat by the skylight doing sentry while the others worked.
“Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal,” said Wicks.
As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary burst into piercing song.
“My God!” cried Carthew, with a gulp, “we can’t leave that wretched bird to starve. It was poor Goddedaal’s.”
“Bring the bally thing along!” cried the captain.
And they went on deck.