"Jim will know what to do with him," she said. "All we got to do is keep
him safe."
"I'll attend to that; come on, Mark, let's throw the damn sneak into that
left-hand stateroom. He'll stay there all right. Aw, take hold; don't be
afraid of hurting the fellow."
They roughed him forward, but West made no attempt to resist; his hands
were bound, and he was helpless. The woman threw open the narrow door,
and he was bundled unceremoniously across the threshold, and thrown
heavily to the floor. He struggled partially upright, protesting against
being left in that helpless condition, but the red-moustached man only
laughed, shutting the door tightly, and locking it. The single port hole
was covered by heavy drapery, the stateroom in total darkness. Through
the door panels he could hear a voice speaking.
"He's better off that way until we get out of here. You stay here, Mary,
till I can attend to him myself. Those fellows ought to have that engine
fixed by this time. Mark and I better go up on deck awhile."
"But, Joe, do you think they have caught on to us?" she asked anxiously.
"No, I don't; this guy wouldn't be snooping about alone if they had. He
ain't no fly cop, and just happened to be loafin' here--that's my guess.
He knew this was the Coolidge Yacht, and that set him to asking
questions. That guy don't look to me like he was the kind to be afraid
of. All we got to do is hold him here until Jim decides what he's up to.
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