The sight of me brought a sudden end to his meal, for he promptly threw up his hands, crying:
“Don’t shoot, Pitt! Great Scott! What’s the matter?”
“Where’s Brack?” I demanded.
“Put that gun away!” he stammered. “Man, you’ve got murder in your face.”
I lowered the weapon and the doctor dropped his hands with a sigh of relief.
“Whew! I’m glad you aren’t after me. You certainly can look fierce, Pitt. What’s up?”
“Brack?” I repeated, but before he could reply Chanler lurched wildly past me into the room. His eyes fell on the doctor’s bottle and he rushed for it like a madman. The professional instinct rose in Olson at the sight of him and he whisked the bottle out of reach. In the end Olson resorted to a hypodermic injection, and presently George was dozing on a bunk in the corner.
“Whew! Close call,” said the doctor looking down at his patient. “You got him here just about in time.”
“Where is Brack?” I demanded. “And where’s the yacht?”
“The yacht?” repeated Olson staring stupidly. “Our yacht? Isn’t it——”