She began a hurried search of Neeland’s clothing; presently discovered her own handkerchief; thrust it into her apron pocket, and continued rummaging while the bearded man turned his attention to the automatic pistol. This he finally succeeded in disengaging, and he laid it on the wash basin.
“Here are his keys,” whispered the nurse feverishly, 205 holding them up against the dim circle of evening sky framed by the open port. “You had better light the stateroom; I can’t see. Hurry! I think he is beginning to recover.”
When the bearded man had switched on the electric light he returned to kneel once more beside the inert body on the floor, and began to pull and haul and tug at the box and attempt to insert the key in the lock. But the stiffened clutch of the drugged man made it impossible either to release the box or get at the keyhole.
“Ach, was! Verflüchtete’ schwein-hund––!” He seized the rigid hand and, exerting all the strength of a brutally inflamed fury, fairly ripped loose the fingers.
“Also!” he panted, seizing the stiffened body from the floor and lifting it. “Hold you him by the long and Yankee legs once, und I push him out––”
“Out of the port?”
“Gewiss! Otherwise he recovers to raise some hell!”
“It is not necessary. How shall this man know?”
“You left your handkerchief. He iss no fool. He makes a noise. No, it iss safer we push him overboard.”
“I’ll take the papers to Karl, and then I can remain in my stateroom––”