“Keep your head, man! Don’t yell! I’ll attend to this! Go find Professor Cultus near the head of the gangway, quick! Don’t yell! It’s bad enough as it is!”
The last remark settled Jimmy; he vanished up the steps, and Onset groaned at the thought of being caught helpless below decks.
“Now,” said the Doctor, quickly turning to the patient, “we’ve got to hustle—it looks like an explosion, near by!—before a panic seizes the passengers.” Poor Onset, in the narrow passage lit by the flames, seized the Doctor with a grip of terrible fright, his well arm jerking the Doctor as if he had a spasm. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me!”
“I don’t intend to, I’ll stick by you,” said the arch conspirator, “but you must make an effort, too,” and he lifted the fellow upon his feet.
At this instant, down the steps came Professor Cultus and, by another prearranged “coincidence” to which he was not a party, the door above closed behind him.
Darkness indeed. The place might prove a veritable death-trap, surely, so thought Onset.
“What mischief are you up to?” exclaimed the Professor, serious in tone, but his countenance (which none could see) somewhat suspicious if not humorous.
“Lend a hand!” cried the Doctor, and then in a whisper, “I’m trying to get an idea into this chap’s legs—— Sh!”
Professor Cultus took hold of Onset’s opposite shoulder, and together they turned him around, moved him in an upright position towards the steps. He seemed indeed helpless, but his eye was now fixed toward that gangway, the way to escape. To get there and escape was the only thought potent in his mind. The Doctor turned and again nodded to Paul. Off went another flash-explosion, more pungent smoke, the sort of choking fumes that scare you off. This time nearer, the vivid light and more excited screams seemed hardly ten feet away.
Onset gave a plunge with his well leg, and would certainly have fallen flat but for his strong support.