The locking bars had been removed from the cover of the fore hatch and the hatch opened, evidently by the Chinese in search of plunder.  Ginnell scarcely turned an eye on it before he made aft, followed by the others, he reached the saloon companion-way and dived down it.

If the confusion on deck was bad, it was worse below.  The cabin doors on either side were either open or off their hinges, bunk bedding, mattresses, an open and rifled valise, some women’s clothes, an empty cigar-box and a cage with a dead canary in it lay on the floor.

The place looked as if an army of pillagers had been at work for days, and the sight struck a chill to the hearts of the beholders.

“We’re dished,” said Ginnell.  “Quick, boys, if the stuff’s anywhere it’ll be in the old man’s cabin, there’s no mail room in a packet like this.  If it’s not there, we’re done.”

They found the captain’s cabin, they found his papers tossed about, his cash-box open and empty, and a strong box clamped to the deck by the bunk in the same condition.  They found, to complete the business, an English sovereign on the floor in a corner.

Ginnell sat down on the edge of the bunk.

“They’ve got the dollars,” said he.  “That’s why they legged it so quick and—­we let them go.  Twenty thousand dollars in gold coin and we let them go.  Tear an’ ages!  Afther them!” He sprang from the bunk and dashed through the saloon, followed by the others.  On deck they strained their eyes seaward towards a brown spot on the blue far, far away to the sou’-west.  It was the junk making a soldier’s wind of it, every inch of sail spread.  Judging by the distance she had covered, she must have been making at least eight knots, and the Heart of Ireland under similar wind conditions was incapable of more than seven.

“No good chasing her,” said Blood.

“Not a happorth,” replied Ginnell.  Then the quarrel began.

“If you hadn’t held us pokin’ over them old sacks on the rocks there we’d maybe have had a chance of over-haulin’ her,” said Ginnell.

“Sacks,” cried Blood, “what are you talking about; it was you who let them go, shouting good day to them and telling them we’d got the boodle!”

“Boodle, b’g-d!” cried Ginnell.  “You’re a nice chap to talk about boodle.  You did me in an’ collared me boat, and now you’re let down proper, and serve you right.”

Blood was about to reply in kind, when the dispute was cut short by a loud yell from the engine-room hatch.

Harman, having satisfied himself with a glance that all was up with the junk, had gone poking about and entered the engine-room hatchway.  He now appeared, shouting like a maniac.

“The dollars,” he cried, “two dead Chinkies an’ the dollars.”

He vanished again with a shout, they rushed to the hatch, and there, on the steel grating leading to the ladder, curled together like two cats that had died in battle, lay the Chinamen, Harman kneeling beside them, his hands at work on the neck of a tied sack that chinked as he shook it with the glorious rich, mellow sound that gold in bulk and gold in specie alone can give.