Able to see nothing, he still felt a presence, and knew that it waited, stirless, within arm's-length of his head. Without much concern, he thought of Popinot, that "phantom Popinot" of Monk's derisive naming.
Well, if the vision Liane had seen on deck had taken material form here in his stateroom, Lanyard presumed it meant another fight, and the last, to a finish, that is to say, to a death.
Without making a sound, he gathered himself together, ready for a trap, and as noiselessly lifted a hand toward the switch for the electric light, set in the wall near the head of the bed. But in the same breath he heard a whisper, or rather a mutter, a voice he could not place in its present pitch.
"Awake, Monsieur Delorme?" it said. "Hush! Don't make a row, and never mind the light."
His astonishment was so overpowering that instinctively his tensed muscles relaxed and his hand fell back upon the bedding.
"Who the deuce----?"
"Not so loud. It's me--Mussey."
Lanyard echoed witlessly: "Mussey?"
"Yes. I don't wonder you're surprised, but if you'll be easy you'll understand pretty soon why I had to have a bit of a talk with you without anybody's catching on."
"Well," Lanyard said, "I'm damned!"