"That's my business."
"Oh, is it? Well, we'll make it ours from now on. There is one thing pretty sure—you were here playing a lone hand. So it don't make much difference what yer idea was. We'll take the bird along with us, Mary; then he'll be out of temptation."
The woman nodded.
"Jim will know what to do with him," she said. "All we got to do is keep him safe."
"I'll attend to that; come on, Mark, let's throw the damn sneak into that left-hand stateroom. He'll stay there all right. Aw, take hold; don't be afraid of hurting the fellow."
They roughed him forward, but West made no attempt to resist; his hands were bound, and he was helpless. The woman threw open the narrow door, and he was bundled unceremoniously across the threshold, and thrown heavily to the floor. He struggled partially upright, protesting against being left in that helpless condition, but the red-moustached man only laughed, shutting the door tightly, and locking it. The single port hole was covered by heavy drapery, the stateroom in total darkness. Through the door panels he could hear a voice speaking.
"He's better off that way until we get out of here. You stay here, Mary, till I can attend to him myself. Those fellows ought to have that engine fixed by this time. Mark and I better go up on deck awhile."
"But, Joe, do you think they have caught on to us?" she asked anxiously.
"No, I don't; this guy wouldn't be snooping about alone if they had. He ain't no fly cop, and just happened to be loafin' here—that's my guess. He knew this was the Coolidge Yacht, and that set him to asking questions. That guy don't look to me like he was the kind to be afraid of. All we got to do is hold him here until Jim decides what he's up to. I don't want to hurt him none, unless I have to. Everything else all right, I suppose?"
"Sure; quiet as a mouse; asleep, I guess."