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CHAPTER V
Captured

"Very good, sir!"

Fired by the dogged bravery of the skipper, Alwyn stood erect and prepared to semaphore a reply of defiance, but before he could do so Captain Blair called to him.

"After all's said and done, Burgoyne," said the Old Man feebly, "we've put up a good fight. No one can deny that. And there are women aboard, though p'raps 'twould be best – "

His voice sank and he muttered a few inaudible sentences.

"I'm slipping my cable," he continued, his voice gaining strength, "so it doesn't much matter to me. There are the others to consider – what's left of them. Quarter, they promised?"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Then we'll chuck up the sponge. Tell the villains we'll surrender. If they don't keep their word (now make sure you understand) tell Angus to stand by, and if there's any shooting he's to open the Kingston valves."

"Aye, aye, sir," agreed the Third Officer. He realized that if the pirates failed to keep faith in the matter of quarter, then the Donibristle– the prize they so greatly desired – would be sunk by the simple expedient of opening the underwater valves.

"We surrender," semaphored Burgoyne.

It was a hateful task, but upon reflection he agreed with his skipper's amended decision. The Donibristle had not thrown up the sponge without a gallant resistance dearly paid for in human lives. It remained to be seen whether the terms of surrender would be honoured by the horde of polyglot pirates.

Gripping the bridge-rail Burgoyne shouted out the order: "All hands on deck."

The summons was obeyed promptly, but how few responded to it! There was Branscombe, with his arm in a sling and an ugly gash on his cheek; little Perkins, the Fifth Officer, who had never before smelt powder; Holmes, the purser, and Adams, the steward, both looking like butchers after tending the wounded; Heatherington, the junior wireless operator; and fifteen of the deck-hands, several of whom bore visible signs of the gruelling they had undergone. In addition were Withers and Nuttall and seventeen firemen of the "watch-below", the rest under Angus remaining at their posts in the engine- and boiler-rooms. Of the rest of the officers and crew eleven had been killed outright or mortally wounded, including the First and Second Officers, and close on twenty hit.

The officers and men who had fallen in on the boat-deck, unaware of the trend of events, were watching the pirate with puzzled looks.

Burgoyne went to the skipper to obtain further instructions before obtaining assistance in order to take him below. Captain Blair was unconscious. Wounded in half a dozen places, he had carried on until the ship was no longer his to command. As senior surviving deck officer, Alwyn was now responsible for the act of surrender.

"We've given in," he announced to the assembled men. "There was no help for it. The cruiser has promised us quarter. Lower the ensign."

As the torn, tattered, and smoke-begrimed Red Ensign was lowered and untoggled, wild yells burst from the throats of the ruffian crew. They did not know how to cheer; they could not if they did. It could only be compared with a concerted roar of a hundred wild beasts.

The shouts ceased, not abruptly, but in a long-drawn-out howl. The captain of the pirate cruiser was shouting himself hoarse in an endeavour to obtain silence. When comparative quiet had been gained, he stepped to the end of the bridge and raised a megaphone.

"Ship Donibristle!" he shouted. "Obtain way off ze ship an stan' by to receive boats."

"Aye, aye!" replied Burgoyne.

Hitherto the Donibristle had been forging ahead at her present maximum speed, which by this time was a bare five knots; while the pirate cruiser had slowed down to the same speed, causing her to yaw horribly.

For the first time Burgoyne noticed that the engine-room telegraph was no longer workable. The voice-tube, however, was intact.

"Mr. Angus," he began.

"Aye, it's Angus," replied that worthy's rolling voice "Is't Captain Blair speakin'?"

"No, Burgoyne," replied the temporarily promoted Third. "The skipper's hit. We're down and out. Stop both engines, and – "

"Weel?" asked the Chief Engineer with more alacrity than he usually displayed.

"Stand by the Kingston valves. The villains have promised to spare our lives, but you never know. So if you hear one blast on the whistle, open the valves and take your chance. Do you understand?"

"Deed aye," replied Angus.

Presently the throb of the twin propellers ceased. The Donibristle carried way for nearly a mile before she stopped. Her head fell off as she rolled gently in the trough of the long crestless waves. The cruiser also stopped, and a couple of boats were swung out, manned, and lowered.

Burgoyne had very little time to complete his preparations, but he made the best of those precious moments. Captain Blair was carried below, with the purser and the steward to attend him. The rest of the engine-room staff, with the exception of Angus, were mustered on deck. Calling one of the hands, a reliable and intelligent Cockney, Alwyn stationed him on the bridge, telling him to keep out of sight as much as possible.

"If those fellows start shooting us down," he said, "they won't waste much time about it. Now keep a sharp look-out. At the first sign tug that whistle lanyard for all you're worth, then shift for yourself if you can, and the best of luck."

Burgoyne's next step was to send Branscombe to bring the passengers on deck. He watched intently as they ascended the companion-ladder, Tarrant and the Fourth Officer assisting Colonel Vivian, and Miles furtively following. But to his keen disappointment and alarm there was no sign of Hilda Vivian. Mental pictures of the ruffianly horde finding the girl below filled him with apprehension.

"Where's Miss Vivian?" asked Alwyn anxiously. A suspicion of a smile showed itself on the Fourth Officer's features.

"It's all right, old man," he explained. "There she is; three from the end of the rear rank of firemen."

Burgoyne gasped.

"Thought I told her to shove on Mostyn's kit," he exclaimed. "Don't you see, she'll have to – to keep with the engine-room crowd."

"Jolly sight safer," declared Branscombe. "She'd attract attention with the few of us who are left. Her father agreed with me. 'Sides, all hands know, and they're white men, every man jack of 'em."

"P'raps you're right," conceded Burgoyne, and as he gave another look he felt convinced that the amended plan was the thing. Unless an unfortunate fluke occurred or, what was most unlikely, someone "gave her away" the pirates would never recognize the slender fireman with closely-cropped hair and begrimed features, and rigged out in an ill-fitting greasy suit of blue dungarees, as a girl of gentle birth. There was certainly nothing in her demeanour to betray her. She was standing in a line with the men, outwardly as stolid as the rest.

Drawing a small plated revolver from his hip-pocket – it was a six-chambered .22 weapon of neat workmanship – Burgoyne thrust it inside his sock, jamming the muzzle between the inside of his boot and his ankle. For the first time he felt grateful to the steward for having spilt ink over both pairs of deck-shoes, otherwise he would not have been wearing boots, and another hiding-place for the handy little weapon would not have promised to be so convenient.

The leading boat from the pirate cruiser ran alongside, and about twenty men, armed to the teeth, swarmed up the Donibristle's side, followed (not led) by a swarthy, black-bearded individual wearing a cocked hat, a blue tunic, with a lavish display of gold lace, a black and crimson scarf round his waist, and a pair of duck trousers with white canvas gaiters. From his belt hung a cavalry officer's sword, while in his kid-gloved right hand he grasped an automatic pistol.

The boarding-party consisted of men of half a dozen nationalities, and at least three totally distinct types of colour. There were Chinese, blue-smocked and wearing straw hats and black wooden shoes, negroes, bare to the waist, Creoles and half-breeds from various South American states, a couple of South Sea Island Kanakas, and a gigantic Malay armed with a kriss and a magazine rifle. Bunched together they eyed the motionless crew of the Donibristle so fiercely that Burgoyne momentarily expected to find them slashing, hewing, and shooting down their helpless, unarmed captives.

The pirate officer stepped forward in the most approved melodramatic manner.

"Me Pablo Henriques, tiente po– dat premier lieutenant – ob cruiser Malfilio," he announced. "Señor Ramon Porfirio him capitano. Now I take command ob de – de – "

He paused, unable to pronounce the name.

" – ob dis ship," he continued. "If you no give trouble den all vell. If you do, den dis."

He drew one finger across his throat with a guttural cluck and pointed significantly over the side. The stolid-faced prisoners hardly moved a muscle. With no immediate danger in prospect, provided the pirate kept his word, they were content to let events shape themselves, confident that in the long run the lawful keepers of the peace on the High Seas would adjust matters in the form of a running noose round the neck of each of the pirate crew.

"Now tell me," continued Henriques, addressing Burgoyne. "You no capitan; where am he?"

"Wounded," replied Alwyn briefly.

"Bueno. He make to ram us," rejoined the half-caste lieutenant. "Capitano Ramon Porfirio him angry, so we shoot. Say, is dis all der crew?"

"No," replied Burgoyne steadily. "There are several wounded below. Also the Chief Engineer is in the engine-room."

Henriques darted a glance of suspicion at the British officer.

"Wa for?" he demanded sharply.

Burgoyne returned his look calmly.

"He has to watch the steam-gauges," he replied. "It might be awkward for us if an explosion occurred."

It was an answer that served a two-fold purpose. Not only had Burgoyne given the pirate lieutenant a satisfactory reason for the Chief Engineer's presence in the engine-room, but he had, perhaps unknowingly, shown a certain amount of anxiety for the safety of the ship. Consequently any suspicion on the part of Pablo Henriques that the crew of the Donibristle had arranged to destroy the vessel, the boarding-party, and themselves was totally dispelled.

"Ver' good!" he exclaimed, satisfied with the explanation. "Now, wher' are de documentos – de papairs?"

Burgoyne shook his head and pointed to the wreckage of the chart-house. "Your fire was so accurate that the ship's papers are lost," he replied.

As a matter of fact Captain Blair had weighted them with a lead-line and sinker, and had dropped them overboard almost directly the Malfilio had hoisted the ID signal. They were several miles astern and fathoms deep in the Pacific.

A string of questions followed. What was the nature of the cargo? The amount of coal in the bunkers? Any infectious disease? How many passengers?

All these questions Burgoyne answered promptly He was anxious not to cause trouble and give the pirates an excuse for brutality and perhaps massacre.

"Four," he replied in answer to the last question. "One, a lady, lies dead below. She died during the firing."

Pablo Henriques shrugged his shoulders. That information interested him hardly at all.

"You vill tell your men," he ordered, "to give up all arms an knifes. If we find any after late, den' we kill 'em."

The young officer gave the word, and the crew deposited their knives upon the deck. Firearms they did not possess, but of the officers, Withers and Branscombe each gave up an automatic and a few rounds of ammunition. Burgoyne took the risk and retained his revolver.

"Now I make search every man," declared Henriques, smiling sardonically. "I jus' make certain."

Fortunately a signal was being made by the Malfilio, and Henriques' attention was diverted. By the time the message was completed and acknowledged, the pirate lieutenant had either forgotten his intention of having the prisoners searched, or else something of more pressing nature required attention.

Accompanied by three or four of the pirates Henriques went below. He was away for about five minutes, during which time the Malay ostentatiously whetted the already keen edges of his kriss. Noting the act, Burgoyne registered a vow that, should the pirates commence a massacre, he would take care that the yellow ruffian would be the recipient of the first of the six bullets in his revolver.

Presently the grotesquely attired Henriques returned with much sabre-rattling.

"De firemans here vill go below an' keep up de steam," he ordered. "Ebbery one of de firemans. De odders dey vill go prisoners on board de Malfilio."

CHAPTER VI
Under Hatches

"That's done it," ejaculated Burgoyne under his breath. "Why that ass Branscombe hadn't put Miss Vivian with the deck-hands passes my comprehension. She'll be separated from her father straight away."

He was furious but impotent. He pictured Hilda ordered below into the hot, steam-laden, dusty stokehold, imprisoned in an iron box, in which only hardened firemen could endure the discomforts, especially in latitudes approaching the tropics. He wondered whether Colonel Vivian would break the bonds of restraint and jeopardize the lives of all the passengers, or whether Hilda would give way under the parting, which might or might not be permanent.

The fact that Alwyn was now senior executive officer complicated matters. He was responsible for the safety of passengers and crew as far as lay in his power, and he was under the impression that Branscombe's ill-advised step reflected upon his own judgment and discretion. And Hilda Vivian's presence on board promised to lead to endless difficulties and additional dangers before the prisoners were rescued. As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind Burgoyne watched Miss Vivian from a distance. She no doubt clearly understood the pirate lieutenant's order, even if the words were somewhat ambiguous; but the girl gave no sign or look to indicate her thoughts. She had dropped quite naturally into the stand-at-ease pose of her companions, all of whom were ready, if needs be, to give their lives to shield her from harm.

"After all," soliloquized Alwyn, "there'll be Angus and Withers to keep an eye on her. And there's less chance of the old Donibristle being sunk than the pirate, if a British or Yankee cruiser should appear."

There was a decided uncertainty about that "if". British cruisers were comparatively rare birds in that part of the North Pacific, and Uncle Sam was content to keep his cruisers within easy distance of the American seaboard, except on rare occasions when events in the Philippines or Hawaii required their presence. As for merchant vessels, they kept rigidly to the recognized routes. Sailing craft had perforce to wander from the narrow path, otherwise there were wide stretches of the Pacific where the blue seas were hardly ever disturbed by a ship's cutwater.

The Donibristle, when overhauled by the Malfilio, was on the recognized Vancouver-Honolulu route. She had cut and was well to the south'ard of the steamer track between 'Frisco and Yokohama, and still at some distance north-west of the converging track between 'Frisco and Honolulu. During the pursuit she had been forced some miles out of her course, so that any slight hope of being rescued by a chance war-ship was rendered still more remote.

Pablo Henriques signalled imperiously to Alwyn to put his orders into execution.

"Carry on, Mr. Withers," said Burgoyne, without a trace of emotion, although he felt like springing at the throat of the pirate lieutenant. "Get the firemen – both watches – below."

The men broke ranks and disappeared from view. With them went Hilda, descending the almost vertical slippery steel ladder without the faintest hesitation.

"You will lower boats," ordered Henriques.

"But," protested Burgoyne, pointing to the shattered and bullet-holed assortment of woodwork in the davits, "it is useless. They wouldn't keep us afloat a minute."

The pirate lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.

"That has noddin' to do with me," he remarked callously. "If dey no float you swim. It not far."

"That's one way of making us walk the plank, I suppose," thought Alwyn; then, without betraying his mistrust, ordered the boats to be swung out.

"We can make some of them seaworthy, lads," he added. "It's not far. Those boats that can keep afloat will have to make two trips. The passengers will go in No. 1 lifeboat. She's the safest I think."

As the seamen moved off to carry out the order, Colonel Vivian turned to the erstwhile Third Officer.

"Is there no chance of my remaining on board?" he asked hurriedly. "You see, my daughter – and my wife, lying dead below – "

"Miss Vivian will be safe enough, I think," replied Burgoyne. "That is provided her secret is kept. I quite understand your anxiety about Mrs. Vivian. Why not ask to be allowed to remain?"

Colonel Vivian limped away to make the request. It was humiliating for a British army officer to have to ask a favour of a rascally half-caste pirate, but the thought of having to abandon the body of his wife to be unceremoniously thrown overboard by this horde of coloured ruffians made him put aside his scruples.

"No," replied Henriques. "De order is all leave de ship. But I gif you fife minutes to perform de burial of de lady."

And so, setting to work rapidly yet reverently, Burgoyne, the purser, and the steward assisted the bereaved colonel to commit the remains to the deep. Under the watchful eyes of a couple of pirates, lest articles or documents of value should be disposed of at the same time, the corpse was swathed in a spare awning, lashed up, and weighted with a length of chain. The steward produced a Prayer Book and handed it to the temporary skipper. Burgoyne, noting that a bare ninety seconds remained, read a few portions of the burial service, then, with every man of the Donibristle's crew within sight knocking off work and standing bareheaded, the mortal remains of Mrs. Vivian were committed to the deep.

"Perhaps," thought Alwyn, as he turned away, "perhaps it was as well that Miss Vivian did go below. There are limits even to the endurance of human nature."

The voice of the pirate lieutenant bawling out orders in broken English attracted Burgoyne's attention. A signal had just been received from the Malfilio countermanding the previous order, and instructing Henriques to send the prisoners below and get under way. So the boats were swung in again and secured.

By the time that this work was completed, and before the British deck-hands and officers could be sent below, a faint buzzing that momentarily increased caused all hands to look skywards. Approaching the Malfilio at a high speed was a small seaplane. At first Burgoyne and many of his comrades thought that it was a naval scout, and that deliverance was at hand; but the fact that no hostile demonstration was made on the pirate cruiser quickly banished this hope.

The seaplane was winding in a wireless aerial as she circled round the Malfilio. Without the slightest doubt it was by this means that the Malfilio had been placed in touch with her prey. The fuselage was dumpy and the monoplane spare and small, and by the corrugations of the wings Burgoyne rightly concluded that they were of metal. She was of an earlier type with a single motor of comparatively low power – but quite sufficient to enable her to be a valuable adjunct to the pirate cruiser.

The "winding-in" completed, the seaplane alighted on the surface and "taxi-ed" alongside the Malfilio. A derrick swung outwards from the cruiser, and a steel wire rope was deftly shackled to the eyebolt of a "gravity band" round the fuselage. Even as the machine rose from the water, dangling at the end of a wire rope, her wings swung back and folded themselves against the body, and in this compact form the aerial scout vanished from sight behind the Malfilio's superstructure.

This much Burgoyne saw before he was compelled to follow the remaining officers and deck-hands, including the Cockney who had been told to stand by the whistle lanyard, and who, during the operation of swinging in the boats, had seen his officer's signal for recall.

Once 'tween decks, the men were herded for'ard and locked up in the forepeak, an armed pirate being stationed on the hatchway. The remnant of officers and the passengers were ordered aft, and secured in the steerage, where they found Captain Blair, Mostyn, and the other wounded. There were four cabins at their disposal, the whole separated from the rest of the ship by a transverse bulkhead in which was a single sliding door. Outside this a sentry was posted, while, as an additional precaution, that for some reason was not taken in the case of the men, four villainous-looking Orientals, armed to the teeth, were stationed with the prisoners. The dead-lights were screwed into the scuttles, and the captives warned that any attempt at tampering with them would be punishable with death; and, since the electric light had failed, the steerage was dimly illuminated by half a dozen oil-lamps.

The door had not been locked more than a couple of minutes before the prisoners heard the thresh of the twin propellers. The S.S. Donibristle under her new masters was steaming ahead, under greatly reduced speed, in the wake of the pirate cruiser Malfilio– but whither?

The reaction of the excitement and peril of the last few hours now set in, and a state of lethargy took possession of most of the prisoners. The hot, confined, ill-ventilated space, the reek of iodoform pervading everything, and a sheer hunger and fatigue all combined to suppress any desire for conversation. For some hours the silence was broken only by the moans of the wounded and the clank of the freshwater pump, as the parched men quenched their burning thirst with frequent and copious draughts, while constantly their Chinese guards, with their expressionless yellow faces and slanting eyes, paced to and fro, like sinister demons from another world.

Hour after hour passed. Darkness succeeded daylight. At intervals the guards were changed, and at about nine o'clock a negro brought in a small sack of ship's biscuits.

About midnight Miles attempted to start a conversation by grumbling to Tarrant about the bad methods of the Mercantile Marine, and the British Columbian and Chinese Line in particular, in allowing ships to leave port in a defenceless condition. Tarrant promptly "shut him up", amidst a murmur of applause from the men in the vicinity, for the drummer's anxiety for his own safety, and disregard of the plight of his companions, had not failed to be noticed.

"That's the way to deal with him, Mr. Tarrant," remarked Alwyn. "We've quite enough to put up with without having to listen to the yapping and whining of a spiritless fellow like that."

"Yes, it's deucedly unfortunate," said Tarrant, "but so far we haven't been badly treated."

"No," agreed Burgoyne, "we haven't. They've spared our lives, although that rather puzzles me. One would have thought that, being pirates, they would emulate the Hun and do the 'spurlos versenkt' stunt. Piracy is a hanging matter, and having gone thus far it's a wonder they didn't go the whole hog. However, they haven't and I don't think they will now."

"I always thought that there was no such thing as piracy nowadays," remarked the purser, "at least only in a small way in the China seas."

"Then you'll have to revise your ideas, Holmes," rejoined Burgoyne. "It came as a shock to all of us. One of the aftermaths of the Great War, I suppose, and the very audacity of it brings temporary – let us hope – success. This game can't last long. Once the world gets wind of it there'll be British, Yankee, and Jap light cruisers and destroyers on the Malfilio's heels, and she'll be rounded up in double quick time."

"I wonder where they are taking us," said Tarrant.

"That I can't say," replied Alwyn. "But, if it's any information to you, I can inform you that we've been steaming roughly nor'west for the last six hours."

"How do you know that?" inquired Branscombe in astonishment. "Here we are cooped up without a chance of seeing a single star, and yet – "

"I've a compass, laddie," replied Burgoyne. "A liquid pocket compass, and I mean to stick to it as long as I jolly well can. Naturally, in playing a billiard handicap, a fellow…"

He continued discoursing upon the irrelevant subject of billiards for more than a minute, his companions expressing no surprise at the sudden change of topic. It was not until the Chinese sentry had passed and was out of earshot, that the former theme was resumed.

"That chap might understand English," observed Burgoyne. "Well, I can also tell you this; if we hold on our course sufficiently long, we'll fetch up on one of the Aleutian Islands, or else on the coast of Kamtchatka."

"Give me something a little warmer," protested Tarrant. "There's nothing like getting used – "

A voice, hoarse, masterful, and at the same time, slightly incoherent, interrupted the conclave. Captain Blair was recovering consciousness and making a considerable song about it.

"Mr. Angus," he shouted, "can't you whack her up a bit more? Three knots if you burst. The cowardly skunks – women on board, and the villains are shelling us. Mr. Angus, are you there?"

In a trice Burgoyne was by the Old Man's side, fearful lest he should divulge the fact to the pirate that there had been more than one woman on board.

"It's all right, sir," he said soothingly. "We've got the heels of them."

"Eh?" exclaimed the skipper. "Who's that?"

"Burgoyne, sir."

"And we've given 'em the slip, eh? Yes, the firing's stopped right enough. Where am I?"

"In good hands," replied Alwyn. "You've been knocked about a bit, but Holmes and the steward have patched you up all right."

"Yes, I remember," rejoined Captain Blair. "I told you to carry on, and everything's O.K.?"

Reassured on that point, the Old Man gave a long sigh, closed his eyes, and sank into a sound slumber.

Towards morning Burgoyne noticed, by consulting his compass, that the Donibristle had altered her course and was steering due west.

"Kamtchatka's off," he announced, as Tarrant appeared munching a biscuit. "They've altered course four points to the west'ard."

"And that means?" asked the Consular Service man. "That we make Japan if we carry on as we are going," replied Alwyn.

"H'm; s' long as they land me within easy distance of my destination I welcome the alteration," observed Tarrant. "But perhaps they're making for a coral island or something of that sort. Are there any hereabouts?"

"Evidently they mean to give Hawaii a wide berth," said Burgoyne. "After that there are only a few small islands – the Ocean Islands they're called. I've never been there, because they lie to the nor'ard of our regular track and a good way south of the Yokohama-San Francisco route."

"Uninhabited?"

Burgoyne shook his head.

"I've told you all I know," he asserted. "It isn't much. But we'll find out in due course, I expect."

Shortly afterwards the bulkhead door was unlocked, and Withers was unceremoniously shown in.

"What's for brekker?" he asked. "I'm ravenous."

"Ship's biscuit and lukewarm water, old son," replied Branscombe. "What are you doing here?"

"The blighters are letting us work watch and watch," said the Second Engineer, voraciously biting off chunks of the tough biscuit. "I've had my stand-easy, and they sent me aft to get some grub before I'm on again. Angus will be here in another quarter of an hour."

"And the men?" asked Burgoyne "How are they standing it?"

"Fine, everything considered," replied Withers "Even though they are being fed on rice as if they were Chinks." He glanced at the Chinese guards. They were bunched together close to the bulkhead door, resuming an interrupted game of cards. "And Miss Vivian is just splendid," he continued lowering his voice. "We rigged her up a sort of caboose under one of the intake ventilators. She told Angus that she'd slept well, but she couldn't tackle rice and cold water, so I'm going to fill my pockets with biscuits for her. No objections, I hope?"

"Do the pirates worry you much?" asked Branscombe.

"Directly – no; indirectly – yes," was the reply. "They don't post guards in the engine-room, which is a blessing; but they are continually calling for more revolutions. Perhaps they imagine we're a South American republic – how's that for a joke, Branscombe?"

"Feeble," was the reply, "but get on with it."

"There's nothing much to get on with," continued the Second Engineer. "There was a talk of tinkering with the high-pressure slide-valves and stopping the engines, only Angus said that, if the Donibristle did break down, the cruiser would doubtless remove the prize crew and send her to the bottom – and us as well. So that didn't come off. But, I say, who's eating chocolate?"

"No one," replied Alwyn.

"You're wrong, old son," he replied presently, "or perhaps I ought to say 'Mr. Burgoyne' now? Fact remains, I smell chocolate. The air's stiff with it."

"Hanged if I can whiff it," exclaimed Alwyn. "Iodoform, yes, but not chocolate."

For answer the Second Engineer grasped Burgoyne's arm and led him across the compartment. With a sense of smell almost as acute as that of a dog, he led Alwyn to a dark corner formed by the angle of one of the cabin bulkheads with the ship's side. There, seated on an upturned bucket, was Miles – and there was no doubt now as to the reek of chocolate. Filled with indignation at the gross selfishness of the drummer, Burgoyne held out his hand.

"I'll trouble you to hand over what's left," he said curtly.

But Miles was not going to surrender his spoils without protest.

"Say, what for?" he asked. "If I took the precaution to lay in a stock, that is my affair."

Burgoyne with difficulty restrained his temper.

"At once," he exclaimed sternly. Having been trained from his early youth to manage men, he was not going to stand any nonsense from a coward.

The passenger gasped but complied. Burgoyne found himself possessed of a slab of chocolate weighing nearly a pound. The wretched fellow, taking advantage of the fact that during the chase the steward's pantry was unattended, had taken and concealed the toothsome stuff.