yer ’ere, but ’e don’t know it. ’E may think I’m ’ere, but ’e don’t know it. ’Cos why? That ain’t why ’e come aboard, see? No. ’E’s come aboard as a blinkin’ stoker—Mr ’Ammersmith Stoker, the hother feller called ’im—and ’e’s got some gime on that ain’t nothink ter do with you—hor with me!’
‘I believe you’re right,’ nodded the girl. ‘You weren’t asleep under the coal, then!’
‘No—seems as if I jest come aht of me two days’ snooze when they comes in. Yus, and if your ’and ’adn’t give me the wink, I’d ’ave ’ollered.’
‘Then you do see you owe me something?’
‘Fifty-fifty, ain’t it? And them two blokes is fifty-fifty on that hother gime too. They said so, didn’t they?’
‘But what is the other game?’
‘That’s wot we gotter find aht,’ said Ben. ‘Orl we knows hup ter nah is that they’ve marked the spot where you and I are standin’—and that they’re comin’ back!’
His voice dropped to its most sepulchral depth. The girl did not appear to be attending.
‘Comin’ back!’ he repeated. ‘Comin’ back right ’ere!’ Then, as she still made no comment, he became worried. ‘Wot’s hup?’ he demanded.
‘Do you—smell anything?’ came the question.
Ben sniffed. The thing he instinctively sniffed for was fire. No, he didn’t sniff fire.
‘I don’t smell nuffin’,’ he said. ‘That is, barrin’ coal.’
He sniffed again. Ah, yes! There was something. He went on sniffing.
‘Where is it?’ He blinked.
He looked towards the girl and missed her. ‘Oi!’ he whispered. But she was merely bending down, and her position answered his question. The smell was coming up from below them.
Ben got a sudden queer vision. It was of a hospital. He saw rows of small white beds, and nurses moving about and doctors. He saw a man being brought in on a stretcher. He discovered himself on a stretcher, moving towards an operating room. Things happened very swiftly in Ben’s mind.
But why had this vision come to him? They were in a ship, not a hospital. Of course, he did remember coming out of gas once and hearing a throbbing something like that of the engines. Still, this wasn’t gas, even though it brought gas to his mind. Something that reminded him of gas, but not gas. Something …
‘Lummy!’ he gasped. ‘Clorridgeform!’
The chloroform was in a small green bottle that lay on the ground in a little arc of light produced by the girl’s torch. For several seconds they stared at it. The sight brought recent events ominously close.
‘’Ow did it git there?’ asked Ben.
As he put the question, the bottle disappeared. The girl had snapped off the light again.
‘Wotcher doin’?’ demanded Ben.
He heard a swift whisper, but it was too low to be intelligible. Then another sound caught his attention. It came from above, in the vicinity of the ladder.
The swift whisper had been a warning. Gawd—now fer it! Ben whispered back:
‘Doncher move, miss! Stand steady! They’ll ’ear yer!’
There was no time to climb back to their original hiding-place and, in a matter of seconds, to re-cover themselves with coal. Perhaps, by standing perfectly still under the wall of coal, they might escape notice. The originator of the noise above, whoever it was, might pass on to another ladder, giving this dead end a miss, or he might poke his head in, see nothing during a quick glance, and then poke his head out again. Sound—that was the thing to avoid. Sound!
Why does one always want to sneeze at the most inconvenient moment? In terror Ben seized his upper lip and fought against the tragedy of explosion. He thought hard of a monkey sitting on the North Pole—he had heard this was one of the best remedies—but as the monkey sneezed this only made matters more insupportable. He hastily sent the monkey packing, and substituted a snake, which hasn’t a nose. At least, Ben’s snake hadn’t. Then a shaft of light struck him from above.
There being no object in keeping the sneeze back any longer, he let it go.
When he opened his eyes he received another shock. The light was still on him, revealing him mercilessly, but it did not reveal anybody else! The girl was no longer by his side. He appeared to have sneezed her away.
The source of the light drew nearer. He did not move. He was too stunned. A second edition of himself moved, however. His black shadow. It swelled enormously as the light approached, creating envy in the breast of its responsible substance. ‘Gawd, if I was as big as that,’ thought Ben, ‘I’d give somebody somethink!’
Then he turned round to see who the somebody was. It was the short, thick-set, stumpy man.
The unwelcome visitor did not speak until he had reached the bottom of the ladder and had settled himself securely on terra firma. Then, after a curt scrutiny, he opened fire.
‘Well, what’s your game?’ he demanded.
Ben became child-like.
‘Stowaway,’ he answered.
‘I see! Riding without a ticket, eh?’
‘Tha’s it. Somethink fer nothink.’
‘Not a hope!’ retorted the other. ‘You don’t get anything for nothing in this world. Thought you people had learned that by now.’
‘I’ve give hup learnin’,’ returned Ben. ‘Well, wotcher goin’ ter do abart it?’
His inquisitor did not answer. His eyes were on the ground. He stared at the bottle of chloroform.
‘Where did that come from?’ he inquired.
‘Fell out of me button ’ole,’ said Ben.
‘Joking won’t help you,’ frowned the other. He stooped and picked the bottle up. Then he looked at Ben quizzically. ‘Do you know what this is?’
‘Yus.’
‘What?’
‘Ginger beer.’
‘Ginger beer! A pretty strong brand! Ever heard of chloroform?’
A bit of coal
