Say, that looks good; I didn't hardly know but I was dead, it was so
black. But I never saw you before; how did you get aboard here?"
The flame of the match caught the wick, and flared up, throwing a dim
illumination over the cabin interior. West drew down the glass, before he
ventured to glance in the direction of the voice. A man lay facing him,
curled up on the deck, his hair, matted with blood, hanging over eyes
that were burning with fever. He made no attempt to rise, apparently was
unable to move, and a dark, bloody stain covered the deck. West sprang
forward, and lifted the head on his arm.
"You are hurt--badly?" he exclaimed. "What can I do for you?"
"Nuthin', I reckon," still in that same strained whisper. "I'm done
for; no doubt of it. That guy got me. You ain't one o' that murderin'
gang, are you?"
"No; I was a prisoner on board; I came here to help a girl."
"A girl! Miss Coolidge you mean, sir?"
"Yes, Natalie Coolidge; do you know anything about her? Where she is?"
"Sure, I know; the damn whelps left her here; that was their dirty game,
sir. 'Twas because I tried to unlock her door that Hogan slugged me. The
boat's goin' down, ain't it? I know'd it was; I heard the skunks talk
about what they was goin' to do, an' then I tried to get her out, sir."
"You were the watchman?"
"Yes, sir; down in the lagoon at Jackson Park. These fellows come off to
the yacht about midnight, an' they had Miss Coolidge with 'em.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195