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He never quite coherently remembered that which immediately ensued, for something struck him on the head. When he came to his full senses again he was lying on a grating beside the body of the Russian cleaner he had strangled. The Saigon's men were all around him. He arose, gasping for breath. Sievers thrust a bar into his hand and pointed to a line of ladders.
Embracing a stanchion of the S.S. Saigon's bridge in order to steady himself against the vessel's pitching, he was peering with strained eyes through the captain's binoculars at two small brown needle-points, set very close together, that stabbed the northeastern horizon. At length, however, he lowered the glass, and resumed the perpendicular. "You were right, sir," he declared.
"You hingry men like eat?" observed a hoarse voice. And Maclean saw an immense steaming pan descending toward him on a line. He caught it deftly. A can of water and a tin of biscuits followed. He was instantly surrounded by the Saigon's company, who attacked the contents of the pan like wolves. He seized a lump of fat meat from the mess, also a couple of biscuits, and retired apart.
"Have a nip?" he hospitably inquired. Maclean nodded, and half filled a glass. "Thank you, sir. Queer thing's happened," he observed, as he wiped his lips. "The Russian " "I know," interrupted the captain. "I've been watching her through the port. She's the Saigon's twin-sister ship, that was the Saragossa which old Kep sold to Baron Dabchowski six months ago.
"Well, Mac?" cried the captain, with his hand on the engine-room signal-bell. Maclean looked up from the book. "His Imperial Majesty of Russia, by the commander of the converted cruiser Nevski, orders us to stop." Captain Brandon pressed the lever, and before ten might be counted the shuddering of the Saigon's screw had ceased. "What next?" he muttered.
"I see your game. Let me look, Maclean! This is my trade." He bent forward, wrenched at a shoot-bolt, and with a cry of satisfaction threw back a plate. The Saigon's company crowded round the man-hole thus revealed, muttering with excitement. "One moment, Sievers!" cried Maclean, for the engineer had one leg already in the tunnel. Then he turned to the men.
Maclean noted that already many of the Saigon's men carried swords and carbines. He watched the rest arm themselves with the Nevski sailors' discarded weapons as they marched their prisoners along the deck. His breast began to swell with pride. "Any casualties?" he demanded. "Two of ours have crossed over," replied Sievers, "and some of us are hurt a bit. But we can't grumble.
"It should be hereabouts," whispered Sievers, and his fingers searched the wall. For a moment nothing could be heard but the deep breathing of the Saigon's company. Then came a slight but terrifying clang. "I've got it!" whispered Sievers. "Are you ready?" "Right!" Maclean's eyes were dazzled of a sudden with a hot flare of light, and the deafening thud of the condensers smote in his ears.
You think it's funny in a man, don't you?" Schomberg made a vague gesture of toleration. Ricardo hitched up his chair and settled his elbow afresh on the table. "French siros I must say I do like. Saigon's the place for them. I see you have siros in the bar. Hang me if I ain't getting dry, conversing like this with you. Come, Mr. Schomberg, be hospitable, as the governor says."
The launch was crammed with men. Captain Brandon ordered a gangway to be lowered, and although the tars sprang to the task with great alacrity, it was hardly completed before the launch touched the Saigon's side. An officer, bedizened with gold lace, and accompanied by two glittering subordinates, climbed aboard, and Captain Brandon met him on the main deck.
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