Morgan reeled, in a more than merely literal sense. Then he recovered himself, after a long silence in which everybody stared at everybody else. He hooked his arms in the rail and took a meditative survey of the deck. He cleared his throat.
"Well, well!" he said.
Captain Valvick suddenly chuckled, and then let out thunderous guffaws. He doubled up his shoulders, shook, writhed in unholy fashion, and there were tears in those honest old eyes as he leaned against the rail. Warren joined him; Warren could not help it. They chortled, they yowled, they slapped one another on the back and roared. Morgan eyed them in some disapproval.
"Not for the world," he observed, in a thoughtful yell, "would I care to be a spirit of Stygian gloom upon the innocent mirth and jollity of this occasion. Go on and gather rosebuds, you fatheads. But certain facts remain for our consideration. I am not thoroughly familiar with maritime law. Beyond the obvious fact that we have compounded and executed a felony, I am therefore not fully aware of the exact extent of our offence. But I have my suspicions, gentlemen. It would strike me that any seagoing passenger who wilfully up and busts the captain in the eye, or is found guilty of conniving at the same, will probably spend the rest of his life in clink… Peggy, my dear, hand me that bottle. I need a drink."
The girl's lips were twitching with unholy mirth, but she put the steel box under her arm and obediently handed over the whisky. Morgan sampled it. He sampled it again. He had sampled it a third time before Warren got his face straight.
"It's aaal-ri-whooooosh!" roared Warren, doubling up again. "It's all riii-whi-choosh! I mean, wha-keeeee! It's all right, old man. You people go on back to the cabin and sit down and make yourselves comfortable. I'll throw some water over the old walrus and confess to him. Huh-huh-huh!" His shoulders heaved; he swallowed and straightened up. "I pasted him. So I'll have to tell him… "
"Don't be a howling ass," said Morgan. "You'll tell him what?"
"Why, that—" said the other, and stopped.
"Exactly," said Morgan. "I defy anybody's ingenuity to invent a reasonable lie as to why you came roaring out of your cabin, Slid down sixty yards of deck, and bounced the captain of the Queen Victoria all over his own deck. And, when that walrus comes to, my boy, he's going to be WILD. If you tell him the truth, then the fat's in the fire and you've got to explain about Uncle Warpus — not that he'd probably believe you, anyway… "
"Um," said Warren, uneasily. "But, say what do you suppose did happen, anyway? Hell! I thought I was hitting the fellow who tried to break into my cabin… "
Morgan handed him the bottle. "It was his captainly solicitude, my lad. Peggy told him all about your accident at dinner. Now that I come to think of it, what she neglected to tell him was that you were supposedly taken to the infirmary. So he came to call on the wreck… "
"After—" shouted Captain Valvick excitedly—"after he hass persuaded de English duke to give him dat hemerald helephant, and he take it wit' him to put in de safe… "'
"Exactly. He glanced in your cabin, saw you weren't there, went out, and— bang " Morgan reflected. "Besides, my lad, there's another good reason why you can't confess. The one thing we'll be forced to report to him is that girl — the one in the cabin now — with a crack over the back of the head. You'll certainly be for it if you admit slugging the captain. To our friend Whistler's forthright intelligence, the explanation would be simple. If one of your simple pleasures is to go about assaulting the skippers of ocean liners, then you would consider beaning his lady-passengers with a blackjack as only a kind of warm-lng-up exercise. Especially as — Holy Mike!" Morgan Mopped, stared, and then seized the rail again as the ship roared down. "Now that I remember it, our good Peggy Informed the captain at dinner that she was afraid you suffered from bats in the belfry… "
"Oooo, I never did!" cried the girl, and undoubtedly believed it. "All I said was—"
"Never mind, Baby," said Warren, soothingly. "The point is, what's to be done? We can't stand here arguing, mid we're soaked to the skin. I'm pretty sure the old whatnot didn't recognise me, or any of us… "
"You're positive of that?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, then," said Morgan, with a breath of relief, "the only thing to do is to shove the box inside his coat and leave him where he is. Every second we stay here we're in danger of being spotted, and then — whaa! I — er — don't suppose there's any danger of his rolling overboard, is there?" he added, doubtfully.
"Noooo, not a chance!" Captain Valvick assured him, with cheerful scorn. "He be all right where he iss. Ay fold him up against de bulkhead, Ha-ha-ha! Giff me de box, Miss Glenn. Ah, you shiver! You should not haf come out wi'out de coat. Now you giff me de box and go back where it iss warm. Dere iss not'ing to be afraid of now, because we haf—"
"Captain Whistler, sir!" cried a voice, almost directly above their heads.
Morgan's heart executed a somersault over a couple of rowdy lungs. He stared at the others, who were stricken silent, and stayed motionless without daring to look up. The voice seemed to have come from the top of the companion-way to B deck, near which Warren and Valvick were standing. They were in shadow, but Morgan feared the worst. He glanced at Peggy, who was petrified, and who held the steel box like a bomb. He saw what was passing in her mind. She looked at the rail, as though she had a wild impulse to toss the box overboard, and he gestured a savage negative. Morgan felt something knocking at his ribs…
"Captain Whistler, sir!" repeated the voice, more loudly. The sea battered back in answer. "I could've sworn," the voice continued, in tones which Morgan recognised as belonging to the second officer, "I heard something down there. What's happened to the old man, anyway? He said he'd be up… " The rest of it was lost in the gale, until a second voice — it sounded like the ship's doctor — said:
"It sounded like a woman. I say, you don't suppose the old man's up to any funny business with the ladies, do you? Shall we go down?"
Feet scuffled on the iron companion-ladder, but the second officer said: "Never mind. It might've been imagination. We'll—"
And then, to the horror of the little group by the glass enclosure, the captain's corpse sat up.
"!!!! 3 ^ 1 /2&£!?!?? 0???" roared Captain Whistler-weakly it is true, and huskily, but with gathering volume as his sticky wits ceased to whirl."!&£&/£/!" He gasped, he blinked, and then, as the full realisation smote him, he lifted shaking arms to heaven and set soaring his soul in one hoarse blast: "M!!&/£—!!?????&—&£/!!/?% 3 /4Vsll Thieves! Murderers! Help!"
"That's torn it," breathed Morgan, in a fierce whisper. "Quick! There's only one… What are you doing?" he demanded, and stared at Peggy Glenn.
After saying, "Eiee!" the girl did not hesitate. Just behind her there was the porthole to somebody's cabin, open and fastened back. As the obliging boat rolled over to assist her aim, she flung the steel box inside. It was a dark cabin, and they heard the box bump down. Without looking at the others, who were staring aghast, she had turned to run, when Morgan caught her arm…
"Gawd lummy!" said the ghostly voice from the top of the companionway, as though it were coming out of a trance, "that's the old man! Come on!"
Morgan was shooing his charges before him like chickens. He spoke so fast, under cover of the crashing swell, that he wondered if they heard him: "Don't try to run, you fatheads, or Whistler'll see you! He's still groggy… Stick in the shadow, make a lot of noise with your feet as though you'd heard him and were running to help! Say something! Talk! Run about in circles… "
It was an old detective-story trick, and he hoped it would work. Certainly their response was magnificent. To Captain Whistler, opening gummy eyes as he sat on the deck, it must have seemed that he was being rescued by a regiment of cavalry. The din was staggering especially Captain Valvick's realistic impersonation of a horse starting from far away and growing louder and more thunderous as it galloped near. Morgan's stout-hearted trio also cut the gale with such cries as, "What is it?" "What's wrong?" "Who's hurt?" They had timed themselves to spin round the forward bulkhead just as the second officer and the doctor came pelting up, their waterproofs swishing and the gilt ensigns on their caps gleaming out of the murk. There was silence while everybody clung to what was convenient, and several moments of hard breathing. The second officer, bending down, snapped on his flashlight. One good eye — undamaged, although the pickled-onion blaze of its pupil was distended horribly — one good eye smouldered and glared back at them out of a face which resembled a powerful piece of futurist painting. Captain Whistler was breathing hard. Morgan thought of the Cyclops, and also of incipient apoplexy. Captain Whistler sat on the wet deck, supporting himself with his hands behind him, and his cap was pushed back over his short white hair. He did not say anything. He was incapable, at that moment, of saying anything. He only breathed.
"Gor!" whispered the second officer.
There was another silence. Without removing his gaze from that terrifying face, the second officer beckoned behind him to the doctor. "I — er—" he faltered; "that is, what happened, sir?"
A certain terrible spasm and shiver twitched over the captain's face and chest, as though a volcano were trembling at its crust. But he still said nothing, and continued to wheeze noisily. His Cyclopean eye remained fixed.
"Come on, sir!" urged the second officer. "Let me help you up. You'll — er — catch cold. What happened?" he demanded, bewilderedly, turning to Morgan. "We heard—"
"So did we," agreed Morgan, "and came running when you did. I don't know what happened to him. He must have fallen off the bridge or something."
Among the dusky figures Peggy pressed forward. "It is Captain Whistler!" she wailed. "Oh, the poor dear! This is awful! Whatever can have happened to him? I say—" She seemed to have a shocking presentiment. Although she lowered her voice, there was only a hissing recoil of waters on the rise, and her shocked whisper to Warren carried clearly. "I say, I hope the poor man hasn't been drinking, has he?"
"What's that Tattling on the deck?" demanded Warren, who was peering about him in the gloom. Following his glance, the uneasy second officer directed the beam of the flashlight down on the deck…
"I–I do believe it's a whisky-bottle," said Peggy, earnestly contemplating the object that rolled there. "And — er — it seems to be empty. Oh, poor man!"
Morgan looked at her over his misted spectacles. A fair-minded person, he was bound to consider that this was laying it on a bit thick. Besides, he was momentarily afraid that Captain Whistler might have an apoplectic stroke. There were even richer hues blooming in the Cyclopean-eyed face; there were gurglings and rattlings and mysterious internal combustions which apparently defied nature. The second officer coughed.
"Come along, sir," he urged, soothingly. "Let me help you up, now. Then the doctor can—"
Captain Whistler found his voice.
"I will not get up!" he roared, gasping. "I am perfectly sober!" But so violent was the steam pressure that it even blocked the escape-valve; he could only gurgle insanely, and the pain of his swollen jaw made him grimace and stop, clapping a hand to it. Yet one thought remained burning. "That bottle — that bottle. That's what they hit me with. I am perfectly sober, I tell you. That's what they hit me with. There were three of 'em. Giants. They all jumped on me at once. And — my elephant. O, my God! what's happened to my elephant?" he demanded, galvanised suddenly. "They stole my elephant!
Don't stand there like a dummy, damn you! Do something. Look for it. Find that elephant or, strike me blind? I'll have the ticket of every crimson immoral landlubber on this… "
There is no discipline like that of the British merchant service. The second officer stiffened and saluted. His not to reason why.
"Very good, sir. A search shall be instituted immediately, sir. It cannot have got far. In the meantime," he continued crisply, and turned to the others with a jealous safeguarding of the captain's reputation, "while the hunt for the commander's elephant is in progress, it is his instructions that all of you go below. Captain Whistler feels that it will be unnecessary for any of his guests to mention what has occurred to-night… Let me help you up, sir."
"Sure thing," said Warren affably. "You can trust us. We'll keep quiet. If there's anything we can do—"
"But do you really think it's safe?" Peggy asked the second officer in some anxiety. "I mean, poor man, suppose he sees the elephant sitting up on top of the smokestack or something, making faces at him, and orders one of you to go and coax it down…
"Smell my breath!" cried the captain passionately. "Smell my breath, blast you; that's all I ask. I tell you I have not taken one single scarlet drink since five o'clock this evening."
"Look here," said the ship's doctor, who had been kneeling beside the anguished commander, "you people be sensible. He's not — upset. He's quite all right, Baldwin. There's something very queer going on here. Steady on, sir; we'll have you feeling top-notch in a moment… We can get you up to your room without anybody seeing you, you know… No?" Evidently Captain whistler's soul shrank from encountering passengers or crew at that instant. "Well, then, there's a recess forward here on the leeward side, with some tables and chairs. If Mr. Baldwin will hold the flashlight I've got my bag… "
This, Morgan felt, was the psychological moment for a retreat. The real object in remaining so long had been to ascertain definitely whether Captain Whistler had recognised his assailant. And it seemed they were safe. But he felt that suspicion was growing in the air. The doctor's sharp words had roused the first officer, who now seemed uneasy, and glanced several times at them. Doctor and officer were hoisting up their commander…
"Wait a minute!" shouted Whistler, as there began to be a general melting-away of spectators. The good eye glared. "Hold on, there, you, whoever you are! You thought I was drunk, did you? Well, I'll show you! I want to ask you a lot of questions in a very few minutes. Stop where you are. I'll show you how drunk—"
"But look here, Captain," protested Warren, "we're wet through! We'll stay, if you like, but let this young lady go back to her cabin — to get a coat, anyway. She hasn't got a coat! There's no reason why she should stay, is there? None of us can run away and—"
"You'll tell me what to do, will you?" said the captain, his chest swelling. "You'll give orders aboard my ship, will you? Haa! Strike me blind! There! Now just for that, my lad, you'll all stop exactly where you are; you won't move as much as a fraction of an inch from where you are, or sink me! I'll put the whole crew of you under arrest! Sink me! I'll put everybody under arrest, that's what I'll do. And when I find the so-and-so who hit me with a bottle and stole that emerald—"
"Don't!" Morgan said to Warren in a fierce whisper, as he saw the other lowering his head curiously and shutting up one eye as he regarded Captain Whistler, "for the love of God don't say anything, Curt! In another minute he'll be making us walk the plank. Steady."
"You won't move," pursued Captain Whistler wildly, lifting up his hands, squinting at them, and holding them a fraction of an inch apart before his face, "you won't move so much as that distance from where you are. You won't even move that far. You won't stir. You won't— Who was that who spoke?" he broke off to demand. "Who's there anyway? Who are you? What was that about a coat? Who had the nerve to ask me something about a blasted coat, eh?"
"My name's Warren, Captain. Curtis Warren. You know me. I hope you don't think I'm the crook you're after?"
Whistler stopped, stared, and seemed tumultuously to reflect.
"Ah!" he said in a curious tone. "Warren, hey? Warren. Well, well! And who is with you?" When three voices spoke up simultaneously he took on a grim but rather nervous tone. "Stay where you are now! Don't move… Mr. Baldwin, you watch them. I mean, watch him. You've been wandering round the boat, have you, Mr. Warren? And what's that on your head? Come into the light. Sticking plaster. Oh, yes. You hurt your head… "
Warren made a gesture. "Yes, I did. And that's what I want to tell you. If you won't let us go, at least send somebody back to my cabin. Send the doctor, you old fool! You're all right. Send the doctor, I tell you. There's a young girl back there — unconscious — maybe dead — I don't know. Have some sense, can't you? She's been hit over the head and knocked unconscious… "
"What?"
"Yes. Somebody cracked her over the head and then—"
Between them, the doctor and the second officer got the captain away to a sheltered recess, where he did not stop talking. He would hear of nothing, not a step or a movement. He insisted that the four conspirators should remain within reach of the eye of Mr. Baldwin, who was holding up the flashlight for the repair-work. So they huddled against a glass front that was stung with whips of rain; Warren took off his coat and wrapped it round the girl, and they took whispered communion.
"Listen," said Morgan, peering over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot. "We're going to be jolly lucky if we don't get shoved in the brig. Scuttle my hatches, the old man's raving. He's insane, and you don't want to cross him. What fathead dropped that whisky-bottle beside him, anyway?"
"Ay did," replied Captain Valvick, thumping his chest. He beamed proudly. "Ay t'ank dat was a touch of yenius, eh? What iss wrong? Dere wass no more whisky in it, honest. Eh, eh; you t'ink dere be fingerprints on it, maybe?"
Warren frowned and ran a hand through his goblin hair. "Say, Hank," he muttered uneasily, "that's an idea. If it occurs to the old boy… And there's another thing. Baby, what possessed you to fire that box through the porthole of somebody's cabin?"
She was indignant. "Well, I like that! With those officers coming down on us — you didn't want me to chuck it overboard, did you? Besides, I think it was a splendid idea. It can't be blamed on us, and it won't be blamed on anybody else. I don't know whose cabin that was. But there'll be a hunt for the box. And then whoever has the cabin will wake up to-morrow morning and find it on the floor; then he'll take it to the captain and explain it was thrown through the porthole, and there you are."
"Well," said Warren, drawing a deep breath, "all I can say is that we had a piece of luck. I tell you, I damn near died when you did that. I had visions of somebody sticking his head out the porthole just as those officers were coming up, and saying, 'Hey, what's the idea of throwing things through my window?' "
He brooded, staring out through the glass at the murky night ahead, dimly luminous from the glow above on the bridge; at the sharp bows shouldering up ill mist; at the white torrent that poured, swirled, and fell away round stubborn winches. From far above smote the clang of the liner's bell— one-two, one-two, one-two —that is the drowsiest of sea noises by night. The wind had a flat whine now; it was dying, and rain had ceased to tick on the glass. Stately as a galleon, the tall foremast rose, swung, and tilted as the bows smashed down again into a fan of spray…
Warren glared straight ahead.
"I've let you people in for all this," he said in a low voice. "I'm — I'm damned sorry."
"Dat iss de bunk, son," said Captain Valvick. "Ay ain't had so much fun in a long time. De only t'ing, we got to agree on a story dat we are all going to tell… "
"I got you into this," continued Warren doggedly, "and I'm going to get you out. Don't worry about that. You let mc do the talking, and I'll convince him. There's nothing wrong with my diplomatic talents. I very, very seldom go off half-Cocked" — Morgan coughed but the other obviously believed what he was saying, so nobody spoke—"and I'll fix it. All that burns me up—" declared Warren, lifting a heavy fist high and bringing it down on the rail—"all that makes me burn and sizzle with bright murderous flames is that there really is a lousy, low-down, black-jack-using crook aboard this tub, and he's giving us the merry horse laugh right now. Goroo! This was made to order for him. And I'm mad now. I'm good and mad. I'll catch him. I'll get him, if it's the last thing I ever do, and if I have to sit up every night and wait for him to come after that fi—"
He stopped, stiffening, as an idea struck him. Slowly he turned round a lean, hollow-eyed, startled face.
"Film!" he said, clutching at the ends of his spiked hair. "Film! In my cabin. The rest of it. Unguarded! The rest of poor old Uncle Warpus's speech, and he's probably pinching it right now…"
Before anybody could stop him, he had whirled round and was stumbling back towards his cabin along the slippery deck.
"Curt!" said Morgan, with a groan which ended deep in his stomach. "Listen! Hey! Come back! The captain—"
Over his shoulder Warren called out a suggested course of action for the captain. Whistler was out of his alcove at a bound and trumpeting. He shouted to the second officer to follow; then he stood and gibbered while Baldwin pursued the flying shirt-sleeved figure down the deck. Warren got inside the door, and Baldwin after him. In vain stout Valvick attempted to pacify his fellow skipper. Captain Whistler, imprimis, objected to being addressed as "barnacle," and described horrible surgical tortures he would like to perform.»He was in no better mood when presently Warren, with Second-Officer Baldwin keeping a firm grip on his arm, emerged from the door. Warren seemed to be expostulating as they skidded back down the deck.
"But haven't you got any heart?** he demanded. "All I ask you to do, one little thing, is go into that next cabin and see whether that poor girl is alive — whether she needs help — whether — Or let me go. But no. I've got a good mind," said Warren, closing one first with a meditative air, "to—"
"What was he up to?" Whistler demanded eagerly, as the culprit was led up "Why did he bolt?"
A very harassed-looking Baldwin regarded Warren in some uneasiness.
"I don't know, sir. He rushed in 'is own cabin, and when I got there he was kneeling on the floor throwing motion-picture films over his shoulder and saying, 'Gone! Gone!' "
"Yes," agreed Warren. Wryly he shook his head as he glanced from Peggy to Morgan. "The little joker's been there in the meantime. He's swiped it all right."
"What is gone, young man?" inquired Captain Whistler.
A little of the first shock of rage had gone from him. He was still in a thrice-dangerous mood, but the insult of the attack had been partly put aside in favour of appalling reflections as to its consequences. Evidently what bulked large in the captain's rather small brain, larger than whisky-bottles or upper-cuts, was the fact that an emerald trinket worth fifty thousand pounds had been stolen while in his possession. And Lord Sturton had a crusty reputation. Captain Whistler savagely waved aside the doctor, who had not yet completed his ministrations. A few strips of sticking-plaster lent an even subtler Cezanne touch to his purple countenance; he narrowed his good right eye, squared his shoulders, and repeated with hoarse control of his temper: "What is gone, young man?"
"I can't tell you," returned Warren. "And anyway it's not important. To you, anyway. It doesn't concern whatever he stole from you. All I would beg and plead of you, if you have any heart, is don't let that poor girl lie there, maybe dying…!"
"Mr. Warren," said the skipper, with a tense and sinister calmness, "I will have some sense out of this… I will start at the beginning, and I will tell you that there is known to be aboard this ship a dangerous criminal who hits stolen from me an object of enormous value… "
"Ay told you, Barnacle," interposed Valvick, shaking his head gloomily—"ay told you it be better to post a notice and warn all de people. Now look at what iss done."
"Never you mind what you told me, sir. You keep out of this, Sharkmeat. You stow your t'g'lant-royals and come off the high and mighty when you talk to me, Shark-meat. I remember the time—" He caught himself up. "Hurrum! No matter, I will continue, Mr. Warren. You are the nephew of a very distinguished gentleman and were confided especially to my care. I have read Mr. Morgan's stories; he has travelled with me before, and I know him. Captain Valvick, God knows, I am familiar with. I am not drunk or mad, sir. I do not believe that any of you is this notorious criminal. Kindly understand that. But I do believe, Mr. Warren, that from the time Miss Glenn told me about you at dinner to-night, you have been guilty of very odd behaviour. Now, when you tell me about a young lady who has received an injury to the back of her head, I insist on hearing your full story."
"Right!" said Warren, with the air of one coming to an agreement. "That's fair enough, Skipper, and here you are. We don't know anything about the attack on you. It happened this way. We were all together, you see, when this unknown girl staggered in, badly hurt. We knew somebody had hit her, so we rushed out to see whether we could find the assailant. While we were on deck we heard your yell—"
("Not bad for a start," thought Morgan uneasily. "Steady now.")
"I see," said the captain. "And where were you then?"
"Eh?"
"I said," repeated the captain, looking so curiously like the headmaster at old St. Just's that Morgan shivered a little, "where were you when this alleged unknown woman came in? You weren't in your cabin. I looked in there and 1 know."
"Oh! Oh! I see! No, of course not," Warren answered, with some heat. "Naturally not. We were in the empty cabin next door."
"Why?"
"Why? Well — er — well, it was just an idea, you see. A kind of idea I had. I mean," said Warren, his wits clicking out words desperately in the hope of finding the right ones, "I mean, I thought it would be a good idea. Anyway, we were there, damn it! You can ask any of them. They were sort of taking care of me…"
"Taking care of you," repeated Captain Whistler heavily. "And what were you doing there?"
"Well, we were sitting on the floor playing Geography. And then we heard the door to C deck open, and this girl who was attacked started calling my name. I don't know who she is; I only saw her once before," pursued Warren, acquiring greater assurance and fluency as he hurried on, "and that was in the wireless-room, when I got the cablegram about — euh! — I mean, when I got the cablegram— about the bears, you see."
"What bears?"
Warren's jaws moved. He glanced wildly at Morgan for assistance.
"Its quite all right, Captain," the latter explained as smoothly as he could. He had a lump in his throat and a feeling that if Warren kept on explaining he would go insane himself. "Naturally Curt's a bit upset, and I suppose he tells things in rather an odd way. But it's quite simple, after all. It's about some stocks — you understand. The bears were raiding the market, you see, and his stocks had depreciated."
"Oh! He's been worried about financial matters has he? Yes, yes," said the captain heavily. "But let's come down to terms, Mr. Morgan? Do you vouch for the truth of this crazy story?"
"Go and see, why don't you?" shouted the exasperated Warren. "That's what I've been asking you to do from the first, if you'd had any sense. Here you're keeping Miss Glenn shivering M my coat, and all of us standing out here on n zero deck when that poor girl may be dying. Aren't you coming, Doctor?"
"We are all coming," said the captain, with sudden decision. He beckoned his two subordinates, and the weird little procession went down to the door. Warren tugged it open, while they all piled through; a pale-faced Peggy, trembling and breathing deeply in the warm air. For a moment they blinked against the light.
"All right, there you are," said Warren, himself shivering as he stood against the wall of the white passage. "There's where she got caught in the door. You see the blood on the rubber matting… "
The captain looked at him.
"Blood? What blood? I don't see any blood."
There was none, although Morgan knew it had been there. He took off his spectacles, wiped them, and looked again without result. And again he felt in the pit of his stomach that uneasy sensation that behind this foolery there was moving something monstrous and deadly.
"But—!" said Warren desperately. He stared at the captain, and then threw open the door of the state-room beside his.
The light in the roof was burning. The berth on which they had laid the injured girl was empty; the pillow was not disarranged, or the tucked-back sheets wrinkled. There was not even the smeared towel with which Peggy had wiped blood from the girl's face. A fresh towel, white and undisturbed, swung from the rack of the washstand.
"Yes?" said Captain Whistler stormily. "I'm waiting."