“Bother that catch,” exclaimed Jack, swinging round; “I’ll have to get the carpenter to fix it to-morrow, I——”
But it was not a weakened catch that had given way. The door had been opened by the hand of a man, who, enveloped in a raincoat and topped by a golf cap, now stood in the doorway.
The man was James Jarrold.
[CHAPTER V—THE INTERRUPTED MESSAGE]
Jack sprang to his feet, but the other held out a withholding hand.
“Stay right where you are, Mr. Ready,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep and I decided to sit out your watch up here with you. You’ve no objection?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jack, for after all Jarrold was a passenger and it would not do to offend him if he could help it, “but it is against the rules for passengers to linger about the wireless room.”
“Well, I can write a message, then. You have no objection to that?”
Jack was in a quandary. He knew perfectly well that Jarrold was there for some purpose of his own, but what it was—except that its aim was sinister—he could not hazard a conjecture.
“Of course the office is always open for business,” he rejoined, pushing a stack of sending blanks toward Jarrold.