A lurch of the steamer had sent Gerstein off his footing. He went headlong. His head struck the side, and for a second he lay stunned.
Before he had fairly got to his feet, Dave Fearless had acted under the impulse of a very vivid suggestion.
From what he had seen and heard he felt certain that Gerstein wanted the shirt he had borrowed because he had left something in his pocket.
"That tin box, I'll bet--why not?" cried Dave, making a dash in the direction of the forecastle.
Dave was so full of his idea that he did not take the trouble to look back to see if Gerstein was coming, too. He got to the forecastle, was down the gangway fast as he could go, and a second later was groping under Barlow's bunk.
"Here it is," he said, pulling out the garment in question. "Something in the pocket, too, yes, it's the box--the little tin box, I can tell by the feeling. Good!"
Dave hurried back up the steps. He just cleared them as Gerstein plunged rather than ran towards them. A steady light shone here.
"Say," bolted out Gerstein, at once recognizing the garment in Dave's hand, "that's my shirt."
"No, it isn't," declared Dave, swinging back as Gerstein made a grab at the garment. "It belongs to Barlow."
"I have something in it."