What a beautiful world it was, Philip thought, as he stepped on deck and felt the soft yet cool air fan his cheeks. He had been so 'near losing it. He had been so indifferent to it before—before that explosion had changed his feelings and made him so near to leaving it. Now it was his for a little longer.
The steamer rushed along like a thing of life, the wind sang through the cordage, the stars flashed above, while on the waters the phosphorescence burned and sparkled as the screw churned them up and left a glittering furrow behind.
Where they stood the deck was empty—not quite, for the body of the quartermaster lay upon his face, and as they moved along towards the bridge they saw several other corpses stretched stark and still. They had been taken by surprise and cut down as suddenly as the passengers' had been below. Death had gleaned a rich harvest here.
On the bridge a man stood with his back to them. They could just make out the figure and no more. In the bridge-house a light was burning where the charts were, and they could make out other forms.
It was a risk to go on the bridge, where they could easily be seen by anyone on the foredeck, therefore they resisted the temptation and passed along on the darkest side, crouching down as they passed the lighted windows of the second-class smoking room. The windows being open, they could hear, from the voices, that it was occupied.
In this careful way they went from end to end of the ship, and then returned to where the voices and dense fumes of tobacco smoke showed that the assassins were congregated. They had the deck seemingly to themselves at this hour.
