HEN Darrell and Bellamy returned to the Golden Horn at half past nine, after the former had sent a code message to Washington, they found no traces of bustle and confusion. The last piece of cargo had been stowed, the stevedores had vanished, and the crew, under the direction of the grim-eyed first mate, were engaged in superficially cleaning the deck.
“Looks as if it might not be so bad, after all,” Bellamy remarked, as they stopped for a moment to watch proceedings.
Darrell did not answer immediately. He was sizing up the sailors nearest them, and he promptly concluded that he had rarely, if ever, seen such a consistently villainous-looking bunch.
“Hard to tell, Jack,” he answered absently. “Of course, we must expect to rough it. I'm more interested in the crew,” he went on, in a lower tone. “Did you ever see such a lot of riff-raff, even on a tramp?”
Bellamy shook his head. “Pretty bad,” he agreed. “Look as if they'd been scraped up on the Barbary Coast. I suppose, though, you must expect that sort of thing on a ship like this.”
“Not always,” Darrell returned quickly. “There are lots of vessels a heap worse than the Golden Horn. However, I don't know that it'll make any difference to us, since were not likely to have any dealings with them. Here comes our esteemed captain, looking as if he meant business.”
“Back again, eh?” remarked Captain Coffin, as he paused for an instant beside them. “You're just in time, for we'll warp out in fifteen minutes. If you'll step into the mess room, you'll find the steward somewhere about, and he'll show you your cabin. I didn't get your names when you first came aboard.”
“Jack Bellamy and Dal Archer,” Knowlton Darrell answered promptly. “I'm Archer.”
The captain nodded, and, with the brief information that the steward's name was Sudo, and that he might need a kick or two to stir him up, he passed on.
“Sounds Japanese,” Darrell remarked, as they sought the cabin.
“Humph! You don't think”
“Oh, no. Nine vessels out of ten have Jap or chink stewards. Still, it behooves us to be doubly careful about giving ourselves away.”
Sudo proved to be an inoffensive-looking little Jap with the sallow, impassive face of his kind. They found him arrayed in a fresh white jacket, and engaged in tidying up the already extremely neat mess cabin. As they appeared, he ducked his head and smiled.
“The honorable passengers desire cabin?” he inquired softly.
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forward, and, taking their bags, led the way through a dark passage opening off the mess room, on either side of which were a number of small doors. He walked the entire length of it at the same mincing little trot, and then, setting down one bag, flung open the last door on the right.
The stateroom was small. It was also stuffy, the single porthole being screwed down tight. The Jap made haste to open this and hook it back.
As he did so, a big gray rat scuttled across the floor, and vanished into the corridor.
“Looks as if we might have undesirable company,” Bellamy remarked, with a trace of annoyance in his voice.
“Oh, you'll always find plenty of those on a tramp,” shrugged the secret-service agent. “It's one of the pleasures a fellow has to put up with sometimes.”
They watched the Jap give a smoothing touch to the blankets on the lower berth, and straighten a pillow deftly. Then he pointed out the bell to summon him in case anything was wanted, and departed noiselessly, closing the door behind him.
“Not half bad for an old tub,” commented Bellamy, dropping down on the berth.
“The stateroom, you mean?” Darrell smiled.
“Heavens, no! The Jap.”
The secret-service agent shrugged his shoulders. “A mighty clever people,” he remarked. “Whatever they set out to do they do well, even if it's only stewarding on a tramp steamer out of San Francisco.”
Bellamy frowned. “Do you think theres any danger from him?” he asked, lowering his voice.
Darrell raised his eyebrows. “My dear fellow,” he said, in a tone which barely reached his companion's ears, “there's always danger from one of these little brown men. With them their country is first and foremost. They subordinate everything to their patriotism. I don't mean to say that he's here purposely as a spy, but I know one thing: If he should have the slightest suspicion of our errand, he'd never rest until he had transmitted those suspicions to headquarters. It's up to us, therefore, to keep up our assumed characters when there's any possible chance of his being within hearing distance. After this the open deck will be about the safest place in which to discuss our real plans.”