boat and a narrow strip of deck were lighted up, but the port boat
was in shadow. He could distinguish it merely as a dark blot on
the sky. Recognizing that he must be hidden should the port deck
light be turned on, he reached the boat, felt his way round the
stern, and, crouching down, crept as far underneath it as he could.
There he remained motionless.

The newcomer began slowly to pace the deck, and the aroma of a good
cigar floated in the still air. Up and down he walked with
leisurely, unhurried footsteps. He kept to the dark side of the
ship, and Hilliard, though he caught glimpses of the red point of
the cigar each time the other reached the stern, could not tell who
he was.

Presently other footsteps announced the approach of a second
individual, and in a moment Hilliard heard the captain's voice.

"Where are you, Bulla?"

"Here," came in the engineer's voice from the first-comer. The
captain approached and the two men fell to pacing up and down,
talking in low tones. Hilliard could catch the words when the
speakers were near the stern, but lost them when they went forward
to the break of the poop.

"Confound that man Coburn," he heard Captain Beamish mutter. "What
on earth is keeping him all this time?"

"The young visitors, doubtless," rumbled Bulla with a fat chuckle,
"our friends of the evening."