She walked towards the Foam, followed by the perplexed crew, and with the able assistance of five pairs of hands reached the deck. The companion was open, and at Joe’s whispered instructions she turned and descended the steps backwards.
It was at first quite dark in the cabin, but as the visitor’s eyes became accustomed to it, she could just discern the outlines of a small table, while a steady breathing assured her that somebody was sleeping close by. Feeling her way to the table she discovered, a locker, and, taking a seat, coughed gently. The breathing continuing quite undisturbed, she coughed again, twice.
The breathing stopped suddenly. “Who the devil’s that coughing?” asked a surprised voice.
“I beg pardon, I’m sure,” said the visitor, “but is there a Mr. Robinson down here?”
The reply was so faint and smothered that she could not hear it. It was evident that the speaker, a modest man, was now speaking from beneath the bedclothes.
“Is Mr. Robinson here?” she repeated loudly.
“Never heard of him,” said the smothered voice.
“It’s my opinion,” said the visitor, hotly, “that you’re trying to deceive me. Have you got a match?”
The owner of the voice said that he had not, and with chilly propriety added that he wouldn’t give it to her if he had. Whereupon the lady rose, and, fumbling on the little mantel-piece, found a box and struck one. There was a lamp nailed to the bulkhead over the mantel-piece, and calmly removing the chimney, she lit it.
A red, excited face, with the bedclothes fast about its neck, appeared in a small bunk and stared at her in speechless amaze. The visitor returned his gaze calmly, and then looked carefully round the cabin.