"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!' "