“He’s got a gun!” he said. “We haven’t a chance against him.”
“We’ve got to tackle him,” Ken said sharply. “Come on. We can’t handle him in here.”
“Give me the key,” Johnny said wildly. “I’ll lock myself in. You go for the police.”
“Don’t be a fool! He’d break the door in and get to you. We’ve got to handle this ourselves!”
Ken’s heart sank at the sight of Johnny’s white, twitching face. He wasn’t surprised when Johnny said, “Leave me out of it! I’m not going up there.”
Any moment now Tux would be down. He had to find a weapon. A quick look around Johnny’s cabin convinced him there was nothing he could use except a rather flimsy chair, so he stepped into the passage and opened the door opposite, groped for the light switch and turned it on.
The only likely weapon he could see was a half-empty bottle of whisky that stood on the table. He rammed in the cork and picked it up. As he moved back to the door, he heard Tux coming down the companion ladder. There was no time to reach Johnny’s cabin. He snapped up the light switch, and, his heart hammering, he leaned against the wall by the door and waited.
Tux came along the passage, humming under his breath. Ken caught sight of him through the half-open door. His fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle.
Johnny had also heard Tux coming and had hastily shut his door.
Tux paused outside Johnny’s door, attempted to turn the key, but finding it unlocked, he abruptly stopped humming.