On the first step he paused and listened, but the work was going steadily on, and clearly nobody had noticed the dripping dark shape that had slipped over the rail and leapt across the exposed bit of deck. “So far, so very good!” said the Saint, and a smile of joyous anticipation flitted across his lips. “Once aboard the lugger and the gold is mine!” The companion ran down into a dimly lighted alleyway, and there the Saint hesitated. That was a risky place to loiter in. Cabins were also risky—they needed only the turning of a key to turn them into prisons. But he wanted a few seconds to rest and plan the next move, and had to take his chance. There was a promising-looking door right opposite him, and he tiptoed across the alley and turned the handle very softly. But the door must have been locked, for his gently increasing pressure failed to make it budge. The Saint was promptly intrigued by that locked door. It immediately drove all thoughts of safety and rest and scheming out of his head, and in his reckless fashion he resolved to have a look inside that cabin with the least possible delay, whether it was occupied or not—and, listening with his ear to a panel, he came to the conclusion that the unbroken silence within laid more than a shade of odds on its being empty. But to open a locked door required more implements than he had on him, and he was about to go in search of the engine-room workshop to collect suitable apparatus when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. In a flash he located their origin—round the nearest corner of the passage. The Saint retreated a little way up his companion-ladder—an unwise move, since it left him with a very groggy line of withdrawal if the man glimpsed him and raised the alarm; but Simon, ever an opportunist, was curious to see who it was had time to spend below when all hands were toiling to get the cargo loaded in the shortest practicable time. He peeped one eye round the angle of the bulkhead, and then drew back sharply. It was Bloem, carrying a tray on which was a plate with a pile of sandwiches and a siphon. The Saint glanced back over his shoulder, but behind him the deck was still deserted, though he was in imminent danger of discovery by anyone who happened to pass and glance down. For an instant he meditated flight—but only for an instant. The deck would be an unhealthy place for Simon Templar to wander around just then, and, besides, there was the door to open and Bloem to tail up in case the Boer were bringing the Tiger a little supper. The Saint flattened himself against the bulkhead; and, as the footsteps drew level with him, he tensed up ready to take instant action if Bloem noticed him. But the Boer was already turning away when he came into view, and Simon’s eyes fired up as he saw that Bloem was making for the locked door.