With this gentle intimation the steward speeded his guest. He had reasons for so doing. He had no desire to let even an affable gentleman like Mr. Porter know that he was in the habit of helping himself to the Old Man's whisky. A few minutes later Wilkins poured out another stiff glass of grog and carried it to the skipper, leaving for his own consumption the glass that Schoeffer had doped. Ten minutes later the steward returned to the pantry, drunk the doctored whisky, and spent the rest of the night in a state of insensibility, in which condition he was found and befriended by the Chief Steward. Returning to his cabin--a single-berth one on the port side--Schoeffer closed the deadlight and drew a curtain over the jalousied door. At twelve the electric lights in the passengers' cabins were switched off, but that hardly troubled "Mr. Porter". An electric torch gave him all the light he required. Two bells sounded. Cautiously Schoeffer switched off the torch, undressed, and put on dark-coloured pyjamas and felt bedroom slippers. Then, after listening to hear that no one was about, he stole silently from his cabin. He guessed that the officer of the watch would be drinking cocoa in the chartroom, and that the bridge would be deserted save for the native quartermaster at the wheel. If he were intercepted, Schoeffer would pose as a somnambulist and suffer himself to be led back to his cabin. But no one was about. Boldly yet stealthily he gained the bridge and entered the skipper's cabin, confident that the Old Man was in a drugged sleep. He would have had a nasty shock had he known that Captain Bullock was merely drowsy and was aware of his presence. With the private code-book in his possession Schoeffer retraced his way to his cabin. Luck was with him. Unseen and unheard he entered his stateroom and closed the door. For the next two hours he was hard at work carefully copying out cryptic letters, that in due course would enable him to carry out his nefarious plans to perfection. He also carefully committed to memory the instructions printed in the front of the book relating to the procedure to be followed in sending and receiving instructions by code. Again he sallied forth to the Captain's cabin and replaced the book. What rather puzzled him was the fact that the Old Man was sleeping naturally. His deep, regular breathing did not conform to the suggestion that he was under the influence of a powerful drug. It was a disquieting discovery. He could not account for it. Perhaps, he thought, Captain Bullock had something up his sleeve. Even the satisfaction of having secured and made full use of the secret code-book had much of its greatness shorn by the haunting dread of the burly captain of the S.S. _West Barbican_. CHAPTER XIII Crossing the Line "Mr. Mostyn." "Sir?" "Did you by any chance use the owner's code-book during the middle watch?" "No, sir." "Very good; carry on."