“He has gone without us. Certainly he did not strive to be sure that everybody was off the ship before he left. He evidently must have left it to his subordinates to do that. And I am sure they were not all trustworthy.”
She swiftly repeated her own experience. The bruise gained by her fall over the taut cord was quite visible on her forehead. But the smart of it Ruth did not mind now. There were many other things of more importance.
“It looks like treachery all the way through,” groaned Mr. Dowd. “I remember now. I fell down the companionway—and I could not understand why, for the ship was not rolling. You say you suspect Dykman? So do I. He was right there when I fell, and it seemed to me afterward that I was tripped by something at the top of the steps.
“But I was so confused—why, yes, you came and aroused me once, did you not, Miss Fielding?”
“Yes. Somebody must have given you an opiate. Who bandaged your head, Mr. Dowd?” she asked.
“The surgeon. He was here and fixed me up. He—he gave me a drink that he said would fix me all right.”
“It did,” the girl returned grimly. “It may have been he meant you no harm. Possibly he thought a long sleep was what you needed. But, then, why did he not remember you when the ship was abandoned? He must have known you would be helpless.”
“It seems strange,” admitted Mr. Dowd. “Kreuger is the surgeon’s name. Of course, the name smacks of Germany. But—but if we are going to distrust everybody with a German name, where shall we be?”
“Safer, perhaps,” Ruth said, with rather grim lips. “In this case, at least, the doctor seems to have done quite as the conspirators would have had him. They plainly feared that both you and I suspected too much, and they did not intend that we should escape from this ship.”
“Come!” he said, having struggled into his vest and coat and seized his uniform cap. “Let us go up on deck and see what the promise is. Here! I will light this lantern; that will give us a steadier light than your torch.