A voice in English, faint and dreamy, reached him. "This way ... Mr. Windham.... Please."
A white almost-skeleton hand stretched toward him from a lower bunk. A bearded face, cadaverously sunken, in which gleamed bright fevered eyes, was now discernible.
"McTurpin!" he spoke incredulously.
"What's left of me," the tone was hollow, grim. "Please sit down here, close to me.... I've something to tell you.... Something that will--"
He sank back weakly, but his eyes implored. Benito took a seat beside the bunk. For a moment he thought the man was dead. He lay so limp, so silent!
Then McTurpin whispered. "Bend closer. I will tell you how to serve your country.... There's a schooner called the 'J.M. Chapman.' Do you know where it lies?"
"No," Benito answered, "but that's easily discovered. If you've anything to say--go on."
McTurpin's bony fingers clutched Benito's sleeve. "Listen," he said. "Bend nearer."
His voice droned on, at times imperceptible, again hoarse with excitement. Benito sat moveless, absorbed.
Above the iron-trap doors Po Lun waited patiently.