“Lead right in there,” said Patricia, and knew by the way he hesitated that he had lied, and that he had been hoping she would postpone entering that cabin and take him into the one on the right, where perhaps Bittle was.
He opened the door and there she stopped him.
“Walk right in—and keep well away from the door. If you try to slam it in my face you’ll get hurt.”
He submitted perforce, and she followed him in and kicked the door to. She was then in a dilemma—a man could have tied Maggs up and left him, but Patricia could not trust herself to do that, since she would have no chance against him if he turned on her while she was unarmed, and she could not truss him up effectively with one hand. And she could hardly lock him in loose, when he could smash a porthole and raise the alarm as soon as she passed on. In fact, there was only one way to eliminate Mr. Maggs. . . .
Swiftly she reversed the revolver in her right hand, swept it up, and crashed it down with all her strength on the back of his head.
The next moment she was looking down at his prostrate form, and she found that she was trembling. To embark on an evening’s amateur piracy—even to the extent of holding up the skipper at the end of a gun—even to putting out a recalcitrant cook in fair fight—is one thing. To strike a man down in cold blood is another, especially when you do it for the first time in your uneventful life. She feared that she might have killed him, but a rapid examination showed that he was still breathing, though she reckoned by the vim she had put into the blow that he would have no interest in the entertainment for a long time. She regained her feet, considerably relieved.
“Pull yourself together, Patricia Holm!” she admonished herself. “This isn’t a vicarage tea-party—you can’t afford to be squeamish. They’ll do worse to you if they get you, so let ’em have it while you can!”
Now for Bittle. . . .
She locked Mr. Maggs in, and stowed the key away by a cleat, where it could be recovered later if required. Then she crossed to the other door, turned the handle noiselessly, and suddenly flung the door wide.
The cabin was in darkness. She searched for the electric light switch, and the darkness was wiped out in a glare that half blinded her, but she was able to see that the cabin was empty. An open valise was on the bunk, and some clothes had been unpacked, and lay strewn about. A faint odour of fresh tobacco proved that the occupant had not long been gone. Then an ash-tray on the ledge of the disappearing wash-basin caught her eye, and she discovered the origin of the smoky smell, for the cigar had only just been lighted.