“Let’s see it,” said the purser. “Second cabin. It seems all correct.” He rang a bell. “Ask the chief steward to come here a moment,” he said to the Chinese boy who responded.
“Anyhow,” Elliott insisted, “I’ve got to get off this ship and back to Hongkong, as quick as I can. Don’t you call at Yokohama?”
“We don’t stop anywhere this side of San Francisco.”
The chief steward came in at this moment, and looked at Elliott with a smile of recognition. “Good morning. Feel better, sir?” he inquired.
“This gentleman doesn’t know how he got on board,” said the purser. “His ticket’s all right. Did you see him when he came on?”
“Sure I did,” responded the steward, cheerfully. “I helped to get him to his stateroom. He came aboard last night about eleven o’clock, with a couple of his friends holding him up. You sure had been having a swell time, sir,—no offence. They’d been giving you a little send-off dinner at the Hongkong Club, don’t you remember? The gentlemanly dark young fellow explained it to me, and asked me to have the doctor look in on you when you woke up. How do you feel, sir?”
“Can you tell me when this ticket was bought?” Elliott asked.
The purser looked at it again. “Bought last night. It must have been the last ticket sold for this ship. You were lucky to get passage so late.”
“Shanghaied, by God!” cried Elliott. “Drugged and kidnapped! I’ve got to see the captain. Somebody’ll settle with me for this!”
“You’d better take time to put on a collar and shoes,” the purser advised. “A minute more won’t matter. The captain can’t help you, I’m afraid.”