“A thug!” I cried.
“He—it—the mummy thing—would have strangled me if I had slept, for he crouched over the berth—seeking—seeking...”
I clenched my teeth convulsively.
“But I was sitting up—”
“With the light on?” interrupted Stacey in surprise.
“No,” added Karamaneh; “the light was out.” She turned her eyes toward me, as the wonderful blush overspread her face once more. “I was sitting thinking. It all happened within a few seconds, and quite silently. As the mummy crouched over the berth, I unlocked the door and leaped out into the passage. I think I screamed; I did not mean to. Oh, Dr. Stacey, there is not a moment to spare! Mr. Nayland Smith must be warned immediately. Some horrible servant of Dr. Fu-Manchu is on the ship!”
CHAPTER XXXII. THE TRAGEDY
Nayland Smith leaned against the edge of the dressing-table, attired in pyjamas. The little stateroom was hazy with smoke, and my friend gripped the charred briar between his teeth and watched the blue-gray clouds arising from the bowl, in an abstracted way. I knew that he was thinking hard, and from the fact that he had exhibited no surprise when I had related to him the particular’s of the attack upon Karamaneh I judged that he had half anticipated something of the kind. Suddenly he stood up, staring at me fixedly.
“Your tact has saved the situation, Petrie,” he snapped. “It failed you momentarily, though, when you proposed to me just now that we should muster the lascars for inspection. Our game is to pretend that we know nothing—that we believe Karamaneh to have had a bad dream.”