He turned and cast at me a scrutinizing gaze.
“You’re the young man who brought us off the wreck, I think?”
I nodded.
“The Prince has asked for you twice. Perhaps you’d better go to him now. I’ve given him a hypodermic and he feels easier.”
“Why does he wish to see me?” I asked curiously.
“Some fool notion of gratitude, I suppose. These educated Chinese are very courteous and punctilious fellows. It’s likely he wouldn’t die comfortably if he had neglected to thank you for your slight services.”
“Shall I go in alone?” I asked hesitatingly.
“Yes; walk right in. The Death’s-Head is with him,” added the doctor with a snort of contempt that I did not understand.
So I softly turned the handle of the stateroom door and walked in. It was not a pleasant errand to visit a dying man, and I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
The state cabin of the Seagull was a roomy—almost spacious—apartment, and we had fitted it up carefully for the use of any important guest we might have aboard. It had never been used but once before, and as I glanced around it I felt a pang that it was now to be the scene of a death, and that a miserable Chinaman should put this blemish upon it.