The Saint Meets the Tiger s-1 Page 20
It was the Saint himself who spoke. All his bubbling optimism was sparkling up through his system again. He was tired, naturally, but he still felt fit enough to tackle anything the Tiger Cubs were prepared to hand out to him, and he had never reviewed an impending struggle more eagerly, for by all the omens it was going to be the last of his exploits, and his sense of theatre demanded that he should finish up in a blaze of glory.
He searched for his weapons, and found them securely in their places. The cigarettes in his case, which might have been useful, had been ruined by the wet; but the case itself, with the fine steel blade running along one edge of it, was a tried asset in emergencies, and this went into the hip pocket of his trousers. His coat he left in the cave.
Looking down, he saw that there were only a dozen yards to climb down to the beach. With the moon to help him, this was no difficult task. He swung over the edge at once, and in a few minutes he stood on the crunching shingle with the water lapping round his ankles. There was a longish swim yet to get through, but by now he felt capable of all that and more. He waded out up to his waist and then slithered forward into the ripples without a splash, like an otter, and struck out for the Tiger's ship with clean, powerful strokes.
His arms rose and fell rhythmically, making not the least sound as they cleared the water and then dived back at full stretch. The Saint could keep up that graceful overarm for hours, but on this occasion he had no need for such a display of stamina. His trained muscles drove him forward tirelessly at a pace that ate up distance. He steered a wide circling course to keep well out of the danger zone between the Old House and the ship, where he might have been spotted by a pair of keen eyes in one of the rowboats or by anyone who happened to be looking across that reach of water from either side, for the moonlight was strengthening with every minute — an act of cussedness on the part of Nature which made the job in hand a more ticklish proposition for both Saint and Tiger alike. Even so, it was not very long before he came up under the motor ship's cruiser stern, after covering the last hundred yards under water with only three cautious floatings-up for breath.
He clung there for a moment's rest, and then worked his way along the seaward side, where it would be safest, forward to the bows, hugging close in to the hull. It then occurred to him that the climb up the anchor chain, in full view of the island and the ship's bridge, would be a very chancy method. Yet the vessel's sides rose sheer and unbroken for six feet before they were cut by the lowest row of portholes.
But once more his luck held. As he swam slowly along, pondering this problem, he ran right into a rope ladder which hung .down from the deck. It couldn't have been more conveniently provided if he had asked for it to be lowered against his arrival, but a little thought gave him the reason for its presence. It must have been dropped for the Tiger and his principals to come aboard, and since then the tide must have swung the ship right round on her moorings. And there it was, temporarily forgotten, and just the very thing he wanted.
The noise of the donkey engine, throttled down though it was, and the creaking of the derricks which were taking the gold on board, was louder now, and he could hear the sound of sea boots grating on the deck, and the subdued voices of men. As far as he could gather on his way up they were working on the after hold, for he heard nothing from directly above him.
The Saint came level with the deck and peeped over. All was clear at that point and forward of it, but he could see a few figures clustered round the small hatch aft, and an arm of timber stood out against the sky with a square case dangling at the end of it. Fortunately, they were all intent on their task, and already he had banked on the ship being short-handed, so that all the crew there was would be occupied with other things than loafing about getting in his way. With a quick heave, the Saint gained the rail, went over, and landed on the deck without sound. Facing him was an open door and a companionway. He jumped for it.
On the first step he paused and listened, but the work was going steadily on, and clearly nobody had noticed the dripping dark shape that had slipped over the rail and leaped across the exposed bit of deck.
"So far, so very good!" said the Saint, and a smile of joyous anticipation flitted across his lips. "Once aboard the lugger and the gold is mine!"
The companion ran down into a dimly lighted alleyway, and there the Saint hesitated. That was a risky place to loiter in. Cabins were also risky — they needed only the turning of a key to turn them into prisons. But he wanted a few seconds to rest and plan the next move, and bad to take his chance.
There was a promising-looking door right opposite him, and he tiptoed across the alley and turned the handle very softly. But the door must have been locked, for his gently increasing pressure failed to make it budge. The Saint was promptly intrigued by that locked door. It immediately drove all thoughts of safety and rest and scheming out of his head, and in his reckless fashion he resolved to have a look inside that cabin with the least possible delay, whether it was occupied or not — and, listening with his ear to a panel, he came to the conclusion that the unbroken silence within laid more than a shade of odds on its being empty. But to open a locked door required more implements than he had on him, and he was about to go in search of the engine-room workshop to collect suitable apparatus when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
In a flash he located their origin — round the nearest corner of the passage. The Saint retreated a little way up his companion ladder — an unwise move, since it left him with a very groggy line of withdrawal if the man glimpsed him and raised the alarm; but Simon, ever an opportunist, was curious to see who it was that had time to spend below when all hands were toiling to get the cargo loaded in the shortest practicable time.
He peeped one eye round the angle of the bulkhead, and then drew back sharply.
It was Bloem, carrying a tray on which was a plate with a pile of sandwiches and a siphon. The Saint glanced back over his shoulder, but behind him the deck was still deserted, though he was in imminent danger of discovery by anyone who happened to pass and glance down. For an instant he meditated flight — but only for an instant. The deck would be an unhealthy place for Simon Templar to wander around just then, and, besides, there was the door to open and Bloem to tail up in case the Boer were bringing the Tiger a little supper.
The Saint flattened himself atainst the bulkhead; and, as the footsteps drew level with him, he tensed up ready to take instant action, if Bloem noticed him. But the Boer was already turning away when he came into view, and Simon's eyes fired up as he saw that Bloem was making for the locked door.
Bloem set the tray down on the floor, fumbled for a key, and turned it in the lock. He pushed the door half open, and the Saint could see one corner of the cabin, for the lights were on inside. Then Bloem bent down to pick up the tray, and as he did so Simon dived from the eighth stair.
The Saint landed on one hunched shoulder, and that shoulder impinged accurately over Bloem's kidneys. The man gave a grunt of agony. All the weight of Simon's leaping, falling body was hurtling on behind that muscular shoulder, and Bloem was caught off his equilibrium. The impact sent the Boer toppling over, and his head was bumped forcefully against the floor as Simon crashed on top of him.
Bloem was absolutely out, but the sound of the scuffle might possibly have been heard. The Saint was on his feet again with the speed of a fighting panther. He— grabbed Bloem by the collar and yanked him into the cabin; then he snatched in the tray. In a moment he had the door shut and had turned with his back to it to see what his impulse had let him in for.
It was not till then that he saw someone sitting quietly on the bunk.
"Oh, how d'you do, Auntie?" said the Saint, who was always polite, and Agatha Girton's lips curved ironically.
"You're really rather a wonderful man, Mr. Templar," she remarked.
Chapter XVII
PIRACY
Coming from the opposite side of the tor to that of the Saint's take-off, Patricia and her two lieuten
ants had no need to make a detour. They approached the Tiger's ship on the sheltered side. The hull of it cast a deep and spacious shadow over the moonlit waters, and all the attention of the crew would be concentrated toward the island and away from the swimmers, so that the only precautions the raiders had to observe were those of slipping through the quiet sea without noise.
When the sides of the ship loomed above them, Patricia forged ahead and led the way up under the bows. There they rested for a moment, clinging with cramped fingers to the edges of the plates, while their leader reconnoitred.
She swam back a little way to get a clear view of the anchor chain, and saw the same disadvantages in that line of attack as the Saint himself had envisaged. Then, being the freshest of the trio after the swim, she moved along the side to prospect for an alternative route. Thus she discovered the rope ladder which the Saint had used, and returned to inform the others of their good fortune. They followed her back — Orace was plugging doggedly on, but Algy was in great distress, and had held them back considerably in the last quarter mile — and the girl caught the lower rungs and pulled herself out of the water.
"Half a lap more, and then we can rest," she encouraged in a whisper, leaning down and pressing Algy's hand. "Try to raise just an ounce more — we've got to move fast till we find some place to hide.”
She scaled the ladder with a nimbleness that no old salt could have bettered, and the straining of the ropes in her hands told her that the others were trailing her as actively as they could. Looking before she leaped, she saw that the only men visible were intent upon steering an instalment of their precious cargo down into the hold aft, and in a trice she had flashed over the rail and was standing in the shadow of the deckhouse. In a moment Algy's head topped the rail, and she beckoned him to hurry. Somehow he clambered over and got across the deck to join her, though he was dazed and swaying with cold and fatigue. Orace came hard on his heels.
"How are we all?" asked Pat.
Orace was trying to rub some of the wet off his arms and legs.
"Orl right, miss — me ole woon's painin' a bit, but nuffin' ta speak uv.”
"Algy?"
"F-f-frightfully sorry to b-be such a n-n-nuisance, old th-thing!" Algy's teeth were chattering like castanets. "But I'll b-b-be all right in a b-bally jiffy. I wish we could f-f-fmd the Tiger's whisky!"
The girl turned to Orace.
"Will you take charge for a minute?" she said. "I don't know enough about ships. Take us some place where we'll be fairly safe from being spotted.
"'Um," said Orace, and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "'Tain't sa thunderin' easy, onner tub this size. .. .I'll goan seef they've gotta fo'c'sle-'atch, f’ya don' min' settin' among the 'awsers."
She nodded.
"Carry on — and be quick."
She waited, supporting Algy with one arm. She kept a sharp lookout, and her disengaged hand held Bloem's automatic, for they could not fail to be seen if anyone passed along that side of the deck. In which case the adventure was likely to terminate without further parley... , But luck was with them, and no one came, though they could hear the low voices of the men working aft, the thrum and groan of ropes and blocks and derricks, and the hum and clatter of the small winch. In a very brief space of time she saw Orace slinking back in the shadows.
"What luck?" she demanded softly.
"Didden think they'd 'ave wun," he replied — "but they yav! This wy — "
He led them swiftly to the bows, keeping; well down in the lee of the rail. In a short distance they were able to crouch under the bulwarks at the fo'c'sle head.
Orace turned back the tarpaulin and raised the hatch. He shone his torch down to show them the tiny compartment almost filled with coils of hawser.
" 'Tain't much," said Orace apologetically, "but it's syfe fra bit."
They got Algy down, arid Patricia followed. Orace squeezed in last, and pulled the tarpaulin over again as he lowered the hatch, so that at a casual glance it would not appear to have been tampered with.
"Cosy enough 'ere," said Orace, switching on his lamp for a moment. "Ain't much air, though, an' if ennyone spots the 'atchis undid an' battens it dahn we shall sufficate in an owrer two," he added cheerfully. "We mighter done wuss, on the 'ole. But wot's nex' on the mean-you, Miss Patricia?"
"How's Algy?"
Orace focussed the light. Where Mr.Lomas-Coper was not ashen pale he was blue, but apparently his wound had closed up in the salt water, for the bandage round his head was clean. He grinned feebly.
"I'm rather weak, but I'll be lots better when I've warmed up. I'm afraid I'm not much use as a pirate. Pat — it's this blinkin' whang on the nut that's done me in.”
The girl curled up against the bulkhead to give him as much room as possible to stretch out and rest.
"Orace and I will have to go out scouting in relays till you're better," she said. "We've got to find out where all the Tiger Cubs are before we move — I don't suppose there'll be many aboard, but we've got to locate them all and arrange to deal with them in batches so that the rest won't know what's happening. Then there are those men you saw on the quay. Bloem and Bittle will be here, and the Tiger — they're the most important and the most dangerous, and we can't afford to make any mistake about them."
"I'm fer tykin' the single ones as we meet 'em," said Orace. "I'll go fust — startin' naow. An' when I git me 'ands on ennyer them blankety-blanks they'll wish they'd never bin horned. I gotta nac-count ter settle wiv this bunch o' fatherless scum."
"I've also got an account to settle," remarked Patricia quietly. "So I think I'll go first."
Orace was not a man to waste time on argument; he was also something of a strategist.
"We'll go tergether," he compromised. "I won't innerfere, but I'll be a pairer vize in the backa yer 'ed. Mr. Lomas-Coper won't 'urt 'ere alonely, will yer, sir?"
"Don't mind me, old sprout," urged Algy. "I'll tool along an' chip in as soon as I can — an' I hope you'll have left the bounder who pipped me for me to clean up.''
There was really no reason for anyone staying with him, and Patricia agreed to Orace's suggestion.
They crawled out and replaced the hatch and tarpaulin cover as they had found it. Then, as they hesitated under cover of the bulwarks, Orace said:
"Mr. Templar 'ud be right — they'll be thunderin' short'anded. Seemster me, there won't be no more thanna nengineer below, an' p'r'aps a cook in the galley. These motor ships is that luck-shurious yer don' 'avta be offended by more'n a nanful o' vulgar seamen. Assoomin' that, jer fmkyer c'u'd 1'y aht the pertaterstoor wile I dots the metchanic one? I wouldn't letcha go alone, 'cept I knows be ixperience that pertaterstoors ain't like ord'n'ry men."
"I'll manage all right," Patricia assured him. "Hurry up about it, and I'll meet you under that awning in front of the saloon. Then we can arrange to tackle the men who're loading the gold."
"Righ-char, miss.... Remember that companion opposyte where we come over the side? Go dahn — yer mos' likely ter find the galley aft."
Orace accompanied her as far as the top of the companion, and there they separated. He had unostentatiously bagged the most ticklish job in the programme for himself; for he had already located the engine-room companion aft of the hatch where the Tiger Cubs were working, and to reach it unobserved he would have to travel most of the way hanging over the side of the ship by his fingers, returning by the same method. But this fact he did not consider it his duty to disclose.
As soon as the girl had disappeared, he climbed over the rail and let himself down out of sight. In his younger days, Orace had been able to awe recruits with displays of gymnastic prowess, and he had not yet lost the knack. He worked swiftly and smoothly along the side, and did not halt until his ears told him that he was level with the after hatch. There he paused and edged himself up till he could peep over the coaming. He saw a crate go rattling down into the hold, and then someone unseen said something, and one of the men went to the starboard rail.
The man at the rail passed on the inquiry, and presently was able to answer it.
"Ses three more journeys'll finish it."
"Tell 'im ter 'urry 'em all along. The Old Man's frettin' ter get orf."
The command was duly relayed, and the man at the winch spat on his hand and sent the cable swishing down for a second load.
Orace let himself down to arm's length again and went on. The Tiger Cubs were working quicker than they had anticipated, and three more journeys, with at least two, if not three, of the ship's boats on the job, wouldn't take such a long time. It was not an occasion for dawdling.
Orace got well round to the stern and put a large ventilating cowl between himself and the men at the hatch before he ventured to return to the deck. Then he made a quick dash for the engine-room companion, and reached it unnoticed.
It is difficult to move silently over iron gratings, but Orace's bare feet enabled him to go down unobserved until there was only a short ladder to descend before he reached the level of the motors. There was only one man below, and he was bending over, tinkering with a bearing. Orace had got that far before the man straightened up to look for a spanner, and in so doing discovered his peril. The engineer let out a shout which reverberated deafeningly in the confined space, but which would have been hardly audible outside, and rushed.
As he came on he wrestled with his pocket, where his gun must have got stuck. That fluke gave Orace all the respite he needed, and saved him having to shoot. He jumped, and his feet struck the engineer full in the chest. The two went down together, but the engineer's body broke Grace's fall, and the head which in a few seconds was pounded into insensibility against a cylinder block was not Orace's....
Orace was about to leave — was, in fact, already climbing — when he had an inspiration, and returned. The stunned mechanic was of Orace's own build. Orace commandeered the man's cap and blue jeans, and, finding a convenient locker, pushed the engineer into it and turned the key. Thus equipped. Orace felt that he had a decided advantage — he would be able to move more freely about the ship, and, if he encountered any Tiger Cubs, he would be safe from challenge in the darkness until he had got close enough to make his distaste for their society effectively evident. Once more he began to make his way to the deck.