Part 49 (1/2)
Neeland was lying on his bed as white as death; but his eyes fluttered open in a dazed way:
”Steward,” he whispered.
”Yes, sir, Mr. Neeland.”
”My--box.” His eyes closed.
”Box, sir?”
”Where--is--it?”
”Which box, sir? Is it this one here on the floor?”--lifting the olive-wood box in its case. The key was in the lock; the other keys hung from it, dangling on a steel ring.
The nurse stepped calmly into the room.
”Steward,” she said in her low, pleasant voice, ”the sedative I gave him has probably confused his mind a little----”
”Put that box--under--my head,” interrupted Neeland's voice like a groan.
”I tell you,” whispered the nurse, ”he doesn't know what he is saying.”
”I got to obey him, ma'am----”
”I forbid you----”
”Steward!” gasped Neeland.
”Sir?”
”My box. I--want it.”
”Certainly, sir----”
”Here, beside my--pillow.”
”Yes, sir.” He laid the box beside the sick man.
”Is it locked, steward?”
”Key sticking in it, sir. Yes, it's locked, sir.”
”Open.”
The nurse, calm, pale, tight-lipped, stood by the curtain looking at the bed over which the steward leaned, opening the box.
”'Ere you are, sir,” he said, lifting the cover. ”I say, nurse, give 'im a lift, won't you?”
The nurse coolly stepped to the bedside, stooped, raised the head and shoulders of the prostrate man. After a moment his eyes unclosed; he looked at the contents of the box with a perceptible effort.
”Lock it, steward. Place it beside me.... Next the wall.... So....