He had no personal design upon Billings, nor at present upon Forsythe, so he searched the armroom. As Forsythe and Daniels had found, there was nothing there more formidable than cutlasses, rifles, and torpedo heads; the pistols had been removed to some other place. So Denman went back and searched the wardroom, delving into closets and receptacles looking for arms; but he found none, and sat down on a chair to think. Presently he arose and tapped on the glazed glass door of the captain's apartment.
"Florrie," he said, in a half whisper. "Florrie, are you awake?"
There was no answer for a moment; then he saw a shadow move across the door.
"Florrie," he repeated, "are you awake?"
"Who is this?" came an answering whisper through the door.
"Denman—Billie Denman," he answered. "If you are awake and clothed, let me in. I have a key, and I want to talk with you."
"All right—yes. Come in. But—I have no key, and the door is locked."
Denman quickly found the key and opened the door. She stood there, with her face still tied up in cloths, and only her gray eyes showing in the light from the electric bulbs of the room.
"Florrie," he said, "will you do your part toward helping us out of our present trouble?"
"I'll do what I can, Billie; but I cannot do much."