“Sir?”
“My box. I—want it.”
“Certainly, sir––”
“Here, beside my—pillow.”
“Yes, sir.” He laid the box beside the sick man.
“Is it locked, steward?”
“Key sticking in it, sir. Yes, it’s locked, sir.”
“Open.”
The nurse, calm, pale, tight-lipped, stood by the curtain looking at the bed over which the steward leaned, opening the box.
“’Ere you are, sir,” he said, lifting the cover. “I say, nurse, give ’im a lift, won’t you?”