And the defiant voice of Jim’s own little cockney steward retorted, interrupting:
“Ahr, stow it! Don’t I tell you as how a lydy telephones me just now that my young gentleman is in there? Get away from that door, you blighter, or I’ll bash your beak in!”
The door trembled under a sudden and terrific kick; the wordy quarrel ceased; hurried steps retreated along the corridor; a pass key rattled in the lock, and the door was flung wide open:
“Mr. Neeland, sir—oh, my Gawd, wot ever ’ave they gone and done, sir, to find you ’ere in such a ’orrid state!”
But the little cockney lost no time; fingers and pen-knife flew; Neeland, his arms free, tore the bandage from his mouth and spat out the wad of cloth.
“I’ll do the rest,” he gasped, forcing the words from his bruised and distorted lips; “follow that man who was outside talking to you! Find him if you can. He had been planning to blow up this ship!”
“That man, sir!”
“Yes! Did you know him?”
“Yes, sir; but I darsn’t let on to him I knew him—what with ’earing that you was in here––”
“You did know him?”