Part 48 (1/2)

A gla.s.s of water from the carafe did not seem to rid him of the subtle, disagreeable taste lingering in his mouth--in fact, the water itself seemed to be tainted with it.

He sat for a few moments fumbling for his cigarette case, feeling curiously uncomfortable, as though the slight motion of the s.h.i.+p were affecting his head.

As he sat there looking at the unlighted cigarette in his hand, it fell to the carpet at his feet. He started to stoop for it, caught himself in time, pulled himself erect with an effort.

Something was wrong with him--very wrong. Every uneven breath he drew seemed to fill his lungs with the odour of that strange and volatile flavour he had noticed. It was beginning to make him giddy; it seemed to affect his vision, too.

Suddenly a terrible comprehension flashed through his confused mind, clearing it for a moment.

He tried to stand up and reach the electric bell; his knees seem incapable of sustaining him. Sliding to the floor, he attempted to crawl toward the olive-wood box; managed to get one arm around it, grip the handle. Then, with a last desperate effort, he groped in his breast pocket for the automatic pistol, freed it, tried to fire it.

But the weapon and the unnerved hand that held it fell on the carpet.

A muscular paralysis set in like the terrible rigidity of death; he could still see and hear as in a thickening dream.

A moment later, from the corridor, a slim hand was inserted between the door and jamb; the supple fingers became busy with the rubber band for a moment, released it. The door opened very slowly.

For a few seconds two dark eyes were visible between door and curtain, regarding intently the figure lying p.r.o.ne upon the floor. Then the curtain was twitched noiselessly aside; a young woman in the garb of a trained nurse stepped swiftly into the stateroom on tip-toe, followed by a big, good-looking, blue-eyed man wearing a square golden beard.

The man, who carried with him a pair of crutches, but who did not appear to require their aid, hastily set the dinner-tray and camp-table outside in the corridor, then closed and bolted the door.

Already the nurse was down on her knees beside the fallen man, trying to loosen his grasp on the box. Then her face blanched.

”It's like the rigor of death itself,” she whispered fearfully over her shoulder. ”Could I have given him enough to kill him?”

”He took only half a cup and a swallow of water. No.”

”I can't get his hand free----”

”Wait! I try!” He pulled a big, horn-handled clasp-knife from his pocket and deliberately opened the eight-inch blade.

”What are you doing?” she whispered, seizing his wrist. ”Don't do that!”

The man with the golden beard hesitated, then shrugged, pocketed his knife, and seized Neeland's rigidly clenched hand.

”You are right. It makes too much muss!” tugging savagely at the clenched and unconscious hand. ”Sacreminton! What for a death-grip is this _Kerls_? If I cut his hand off so iss there blood and gossip right away already. No--too much muss. Wait! I try another way----”

Neeland groaned.

”Oh, don't! Don't!” faltered the girl. ”You're breaking his wrist----”

”Ugh!” grunted her companion; ”I try; I can it not accomplish. See once if the box opens!”

”It is locked.”

”Search this pig-dog for the key!”

She began a hurried search of Neeland's clothing; presently discovered her own handkerchief; thrust it into her ap.r.o.n pocket, and continued rummaging while the bearded man turned his attention to the automatic pistol. This he finally succeeded in disengaging, and he laid it on the wash basin.

”Here are his keys,” whispered the nurse feverishly, holding them up against the dim circle of evening sky framed by the open port. ”You had better light the stateroom; I can't see. Hurry! I think he is beginning to recover.”