"Anything missing?" asked Captain Francis Newcombe.
"No; not so far as I know," Locke answered. "What do you think had better be done?"
"I think you had better switch that light off, and stand away from the line of the window."
The young American shook his head.
"No," he said. "It's hardly likely that the same game would be tried twice in the same night. Say, what do you make of it? It seems mighty queer that you and I should have been picked out for some swine's attentions! What should be done?"
"What have you done?"
"Nothing, so far," Locke replied. "I came here at once to tell you about it, and ask your advice. I suppose the commander ought to be told."
Captain Francis Newcombe sat down on the edge of his bunk.
"I can't see the good of it," he said slowly. "We're landing to-morrow. It would mean the shore police aboard, and no end of a fuss; and an almost certain delay, nobody allowed off the ship, and all that, you know. I can't see how it would get us anywhere. You haven't lost anything; and I—well, I'm still alive."
"That's true," said Locke. He was staring at the bullet hole in the wall. "And worst of all there'd be the reporters. Three-inch headlines! I'm not for that! I agree with you. We'll say nothing."