He took the lamp from the steward, and set it in a frame on the wall provided for it in case the electric light failed from any cause. The steward, still pale and shaky, hurried away after one glance at Jack.
“And now,” said Radwig, “we will leave you to your reflections, my young friend. It will do you no good to shout. Under present conditions this part of the ship is uninhabited. No one comes near it. As for trying to force the door after we have gone, it would be wasted labor. I have taken the pains to affix bolts to the outside of it. Bread you will find, and some water, under the bunk. I advise you to be sparing of it, for you will not get any more and now—auf wiedersehn.”
He opened the door, motioned Schultz out, and turned a malevolent smile on the boy. With a shout, Jack flung himself forward, but the door slammed in his face.
He heard a laugh from outside, a laugh that made his blood boil and his fists clench. He fell against the door and wrenched at it furiously. But already the bolts outside had been shot into place and the portal held firmly.
“Now don’t lose your temper,” begged Radwig mockingly from without; “it’s very bad, very bad for the digestion. I would recommend you to spend your time mediating over the manifest advantages of being obliging. Good-night.”
Jack, listening at the bolted door, heard their footsteps die away down the deserted passageway.
CHAPTER XVII.
WHAT BEFELL IN THE AFTER CABIN.
“Man overboard!”
Bill, making his way along the deck to the wireless room companionway, heard the thrilling cry and joined the rush of passengers to the stern rail from whence the shout had come. Radwig and Schultz stood there with every expression of alarm on their faces.