The talk drifted to other matters, while Hilliard, thrilled to
the marrow, remained crouching motionless beneath the porthole,
concentrating all his attention on the conversation in the hope of
catching some word or phrase which might throw further light on the
mysterious enterprise under discussion. While the affair itself was
being spoken of he had almost ceased to be aware of his surroundings,
so eagerly had he listened to what was being said, but now that the
talk had turned to more ordinary subjects he began more or less
subconsciously to take stock of his own position.

He realized in the first place that he was in very real danger. A quick
movement either of the men in the cabin or of some member of the crew
might lead to his discovery, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that
he might pay the forfeit for his curiosity with his life. He could
imagine the manner in which the "accident" would be staged. Doubtless
his body, showing all the appearance of death from drowning, would be
found in the river with alongside it the upturned boat as evidence of
the cause of the disaster.

And if he should die, his secret would die with him. Should he not then
be content with what he had learned and clear out while he could, so as
to ensure his knowledge being preserved? He felt that he ought, and yet
the desire to remain in the hope of doing still better was overpowering.
But as he hesitated the power of choice was taken away. The men in the
cabin were making a move. Coburn finished his whisky, and he and Henri
rose to their feet.

"Well," the former said, "There's one o'clock. We must be off."

The others stood up also, and at the same moment Hilliard crept once
more up the ladder to the bridge and crouched down in the shadow of the
chart-house. Hardly was he there when the men came out of the cabin
to the deck beneath the bridge, then with a brief exchange of
"Good-nights," Coburn and the lorry driver passed down the ladder,
crossed the gangway and disappeared behind a stack of pit-props on
the wharf. Bulla with a grunted "'Night" descended the port steps and
Hilliard heard the door leading below open and shut; the starboard deck
lamp snapped off, and finally the captain's door shut and a key turned
in the lock. Some fifteen minutes later the faint light from the
porthole vanished and all was dark and silent.

But for more than an hour Hilliard remained crouching motionless on the
bridge, fearing lest some sound t