I stood on the quayside, with no idea at all what to do next. After a little while, the light in the porthole grew stronger: the intruder must be climbing up the engine room ladder. At any moment now the door might be opened…

I backed away, taking a look around as I did so. There were several crates just a short distance away. I ran over and slipped into a gap between two of the crates.

No light was showing on the Hudson Queen now, but the muffled creak of an un-oiled hinge could be heard—someone must be opening the engine room door. The moon had gone behind the clouds and the ship lay in complete darkness. When I screwed up my eyes, I could pick out the shape of a tall thin figure moving aft along the rail. And then the pale light of a lantern showed in the wheelhouse.

My heart pounded hard. I had recognized the intruder.

It was Harvey Jenkins. With his cockerel on his shoulder. 96

What was Jenkins doing here?

And how had he got aboard the ship?

Had he broken in?

It seemed crazy. But still… There couldn’t be any other explanation.

All of a sudden I understood why Jenkins had asked me to tend the steam engine last night. It wasn’t because he wanted to meet Eulalia. It was to keep me away from the Hudson Queen!

Then I remembered the feather I’d found in the engine room the night before. Clearly this wasn’t the first time Jenkins had broken in…

Memories from recent weeks flashed past my mind’s eye and suddenly I felt very stupid. There had been several occasions when I suspected that there was something strange about Harvey Jenkins, but I’d never worked out what was going on.

I had a strong temptation to leave my hiding place, go on board the ship and try to get Jenkins to explain his behaviour. But would that be the sensible thing to do? Jenkins might turn violent if he was caught red-handed. After all, he was a burglar.

Or was he? Would a real thief choose to burgle a wreck like the Hudson Queen? The Chief and I didn’t possess anything of value… 97

Then a thought struck me: the turban! I’d forgotten about the priceless turban I’d received from my friend the Maharajah of Bhapur. Could that be what Jenkins was after?

But if that was the case he would surely have found it by now. The turban was in my seaman’s chest and was the easiest thing in the world to find…

Jenkins was still busy doing something in the wheelhouse. The light of the lantern was moving around in there and dull thumps and peculiar squeaks and creaks could be heard. What was going on? There was nothing worth stealing in there apart from the binnacle and the engine order telegraph, both of which were big heavy items that Jenkins would have no hope of carrying ashore on his own.

By the time the light in the wheelhouse went out, it felt as if I’d spent an eternity hiding among the crates. A shadow moved forward and I heard the creak of the door leading down to the galley. The lantern was lit again and its flickering light could be seen weakly through the dull glass of the galley porthole.

A short while later the door opened again and Jenkins emerged, closing the door behind him. Things went very quiet and I thought I could pick out the click of a lock as a key was turned.

Did Jenkins have a key? 98

So he must have been the one who stole our spare key to the galley from the key cupboard!

The dark figure walked across the gangplank and disappeared from my field of vision. Now I had to make a decision. Should I reveal myself or should I stay in my hiding place? Footsteps were approaching slowly. I found myself incapable of moving.

The first hints of dawn were just beginning to break up the darkness of night. I could see Jenkins quite clearly as he walked past, no more than a few yards from the packing crates. His back was bent and his hands were thrust deep in his pockets.

I don’t think I made a sound, but the cockerel must have been aware of my presence. It quickly turned its head in my direction and stamped its feet anxiously on its master’s shoulder. For a fraction of a second, an unseeing white eye stared at me.

Jenkins walked on for a few yards before coming to a halt.

“What was that?” he whispered either to himself or to the cockerel.

Then I heard him turn round and start to come back. His footsteps were cautious and quiet.

I tried to back deeper into the darkness, but it was pointless. I knew that when Harvey Jenkins looked between the wooden crates he would be able to see me. 99

He stood there in silence and seemed to be wondering what to say. Or to do. In the pale light of dawn his face looked worn. The eyes that met mine were weary.

Eventually Jenkins sighed and said, “Forgive me.”

Then he walked away.

It was a good half minute before I dared leave my hiding place. The quay was deserted and a thick, grey morning mist hung over the river.