officer frowned. Not long since, in this very spot, he had himself offered the same explanation to another man. All at once he looked at Ben sharply.
‘Say, you—how long have you been in this little funk hole?’
That was an awkward question. Two days, apparently. But if he admitted it, the officer would know that Ben had overheard a certain conversation. In a panic he responded:
‘Jest come ’ere.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Fack.’
‘I didn’t see you as I came along.’
‘Tha’s why I come along.’
‘Damned fool!’
‘’Oo?’
‘Look here, do you know you’re speaking to an officer?’
‘On’y third.’
‘Only—’ Indignation was succeeded by interest. ‘So you can read a uniform, eh?’
‘Better’n the Bible.’
‘How’s that? Been to sea before?’
‘Yus. Ain’t you never ’eard o’ the Battle o’ Jutland?’
‘And haven’t you heard that even third officers are called “sir?”’
About to submit, Ben suddenly changed his mind. His ear had caught the sound of coal shifting again, and his brain was working.
‘Git on with it!’ he retorted, deliberately rude. ‘This ain’t a children’s party!’
‘By God, it isn’t!’ cried the third officer angrily. ‘You’ll learn what sort of a party it is before you’re many minutes older.’ He held up the bottle of chloroform. ‘This isn’t going to help you, you know!’
‘Wotcher mean?’ asked Ben uneasily.
‘Clear enough, I should think! Stowaway! We’ll see about that!’
Ben blinked at the bottle, and backed a little. The third officer was brandishing it rather close. That, however, was not the point that worried him most.
‘That ain’t nothing ter do with me!’ he declared, with vehemence.
‘Oh, isn’t it?’
‘No, it ain’t!’
‘I thought it dropped from your button hole?’
‘Go on! I was bein’ funny! Doncher know a joke when yer sees one?’
The third officer suddenly grinned. Apparently he was seeing some joke at that moment.
‘I tell yer, w— I fahnd it on the grahnd!’ He just saved himself from saying ‘we.’ ‘I was lookin’ at it when you come along.’
‘Really, now?’ responded the third officer, still grinning. ‘Without a spot-light?’
Ben perspired. The joke had passed out of his hands. Staring at the grin in front of him, he wondered how hard he could hit, if he really tried. But he did not hit the grin. He suddenly interpreted it, instead. And perspired more freely afterwards.
‘So that’s yer gime, is it?’ he thought. ‘You dropped it ’ere, did yer, and now you’re puttin’ it on me! Orl right, Sunny Boy, I got a gime too, that’ll send the sun in!’
Aloud he said:
‘’Oo wants a spot-light fer clorridgeform? I got a nose, ain’t I?’
‘Yes, and you’ll feel something on it, if I have any more of your back chat!’ exclaimed the third officer. ‘Now, then—up the ladder with you. And step lively!’
Ben hesitated. ‘I gotter go fust?’ he asked.
‘Bet your life, you have!’ retorted the third officer. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
He was waiting because he didn’t want to go first. He wanted to see the third officer out of the place before he followed. Those movements among the coal were troubling him. He knew who was making them. She’d nipped into cover somehow … Lummy! There was another one!
‘Have I got to help you?’ cried the third officer angrily.
‘No, you ain’t!’ shouted Ben suddenly. ‘I don’t want no ’elp, not from you—no, nor not from hanyone. See? Not from hanyone!’
The third officer thought Ben was speaking to him. As a matter of fact, Ben was addressing the coal. A piece of coal responded, by dislodging itself and toppling to the ground.
‘Hey! What’s that?’ exclaimed the officer, and flashed his torch towards the spot.
‘Gawd—now ’e’s got ’er!’ thought Ben, and clenched his fist, just to give the world one good bash before it crushed you.
Two bright eyes gleamed from the illuminated coal heap. Then their owner sprang at the third officer.
‘Damn these blasted rats!’ he cried.
Ben felt himself feeling sick.
More ladders. More dark passages. More climbing and squeezing through the tubes and arteries of the ship’s stomach. But this time Ben did not have to select the tubes and arteries himself. They were selected for him by the third officer.
And thus he was free to grope among other dark passages—the dark passages of his mind. He tried to illuminate them. Some of them needed illumination badly. To avoid further tripping.
Where was he going now? That was one question. What was he going to do when he got there? That was another. Answer to the first question—captain. Answer to the second—Gawd knows!
Other questions: How was he going to re-establish contact with the strange little pickpocket down among the coal? If she were caught, what would happen to her? And if he were caught, and had prevented her from being caught, what would happen to him?…
‘Now, then, look where you’re going!’ barked the third officer.
Then there was that murdering chap. Faggis, she’d called him, hadn’t she? Where was Faggis now, and what new game was he up to?
In order to obtain some clarity on this particularly vital question, Ben took his mind back to Hammersmith, and tried to piece together Faggis’s actions and motives. Perhaps
