"Look here, you can omit the element of suspense," said Morgan, taking another drink. "What did they decide?"
"Ay dunno yust what dey decide. But ay got to feel bad about dat poor old barnacle. Come on, now; we play Geography."
This game was trying, but in many senses lively. As the whisky diminished, it led to long and bitter arguments between Warren and the captain. The latter, when stumped for a place-name, would always introduce some such place as Ymorgenickenburg or the River Skoof, in Norway. Warren would heatedly cast slurs on his veracity. Then the captain would say he had an aunt living there. As this was not considered prima facie evidence, he would embark on a long and complicated anecdote about the relative in question, with accounts of such other members of his family as happened to occur to him. Morgan's watch ticked on, and the stir about the boat gradually died away into a roaring night, as they heard about the captain's brother, August, his Cousin Ole, his niece Gretta, and his grandfather who was a beadle. Footsteps went by in the main corridor, but none of them turned into the side passage. It was growing stuffy in the cabin…
"I–I think he probably won't come," Peggy whispered, reverting to the subject for the first, time. There was an uneasy hopefulness in the way she said it.
"It's hotter than hell in here," muttered Warren. Glassware rattled faintly. "I'm tired of the game, anyhow. I think—"
"Listen!" said Morgan.
He had scrambled up and was holding to the side of the berth. They all felt it — a terrific draught blowing through the passage outside, rattling the hooks of the doors, and they heard the deeper tumult of the sea boiling more loudly. The door to D deck had been pushed open.
But it did not close. They were all standing up now, waiting to hear the swish and slam of that door as it closed against the compressed-air valve. Those doors were heavy; and in a wind you dodged inside quickly. But for an interminable time something seemed to be holding it partly open, while the draught whistled. The Queen Victoria rose, pitched, and went over in a long roll to starboard, but still the door stayed open. It was impossible to distinguish smaller noises above the crazy wickerwork creaking, but yet Morgan had an eerie sense that the door did not close because it could not; that there was something caught there, trapped in a snare and in pain, between the black sea and warm security inside.
They heard a moan. A faint voice seemed to be muttering something, muttering and repeating thinly in the passage. "Warren!" they thought it said. And again, "Warren…." until it died off in pain.