A glance sufficed to convince that I was alone, and unobserved.  The deck was unobstructed aft, except for a small boat swung to davits astern, and the cabin transoms.  These last were elevated some three feet, but considerable space separated from the rail.  I slipped into this opening on the port side, crouching in the dense shadow, until again assured I was alone.  My position afforded as good a view forward as the darkness would permit, and likewise enabled me to see into the dimly lit cabin below.  The fact that Henley—­for whatever his name might be, this was the one to which he laid claim—­had not left his stateroom, or made any effort to observe my movements, was a decided encouragement.  Beyond all question he believed me safely in his grasp, and his promise of liberty on board was being substantiated.  I was not to be watched, or spied upon.  For the first time I began to feel a true sense of freedom.

The deck forward of the main mast was too dark for observation, although I was certain of a group of men gathered in the waist to leeward.  Occasionally the sound of a voice was blown back, and I could perceive the dull, red glow of a pipe or two.  The main body of the watch these would be, and even as I stared at the lumping shadow, a command was roared from the bridge, and two shapeless figures detached themselves from the mass, and ran forward.  The bridge itself was partially outlined against the lighter sky, giving me a vague glimpse of two figures, one standing motionless, as though gripping the rail, and peering straight ahead into the smother, the other striding back and forth.  The last appeared a huge shadow, his coat flapping in the wind, and I knew he must be the German first mate, Herman.

Satisfied on these points, and with a glance below at the unoccupied cabin, I stepped back and paced off the distance, until convinced that I had safely located where the porthole of number “5” should be.  I leaned over, seeking to trace its outline by some reflection of light from within, but the receding side of the vessel baffled me.  Yet, assured that I must be correct in my measurements, I marked the spot on the rail, and began search for some means by which I could open communication with the girl below.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FREEDOM OF THE DECK

The flag locker was astern, and standing on it I could feel inside the boat swung to the davits.  It was a small, light boat, fashioned like a cutter, a good sea-going craft for its size.  Two oars and a short mast together with a roll of canvas were stowed on top the thwarts, and secured by lashings.  I cut one of these, and drew forth about three fathoms of line, sufficiently pliable for my purpose.  The severed end of cord I thrust down out of sight, where it would escape any superficial examination.  Anxious as I was to carry out my plans rapidly I could not refrain from passing my hands over the boat,