The Dark Star

The man, who carried with him a pair of crutches, but who did not

appear to require their aid, hastily set the dinner-tray and

camp-table outside in the corridor, then closed and bolted the door.

Already the nurse was down on her knees beside the fallen man, trying

to loosen his grasp on the box. Then her face blanched.

"It's like the rigor of death itself," she whispered fearfully over

her shoulder. "Could I have given him enough to kill him?"

"He took only half a cup and a swallow of water. No."

"I can't get his hand free----"

"Wait! I try!" He pulled a big, horn-handled clasp-knife from his

pocket and deliberately opened the eight-inch blade.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, seizing his wrist. "Don't do

that!"

The man with the golden beard hesitated, then shrugged, pocketed his

knife, and seized Neeland's rigidly clenched hand.

"You are right. It makes too much muss!" tugging savagely at the

clenched and unconscious hand. "Sacreminton! What for a death-grip is

this Kerls? If I cut his hand off so iss there blood and gossip

right away already. No--too much muss. Wait! I try another way----"

Neeland groaned.

"Oh, don't! Don't!" faltered the girl. "You're breaking his

wrist----"

"Ugh!" grunted her companion; "I try; I can it not accomplish. See

once if the box opens!"

"It is locked."

"Search this pig-dog for the key!"

She began a hurried search of Neeland's clothing; presently discovered

her own handkerchief; thrust it into her apron pocket, and continued

rummaging while the bearded man turned his attention to the automatic

pistol. This he finally succeeded in disengaging, and he laid it on

the wash basin.

"Here are his keys," whispered the nurse feverishly, holding them up

against the dim circle of evening sky framed by the open port. "You

had better light the stateroom; I can't see. Hurry! I think he is

beginning to recover."

When the bearded man had switched on the electric light he returned to

kneel once more beside the inert body on the floor, and began to pull

and haul and tug at the box and attempt to insert the key in the lock.

But the stiffened clutch of the drugged man made it impossible either

to release the box or get at the keyhole.

"Ach, was! Verflüchtete' schwein-hund----!" He seized the rigid hand

and, exerting all the strength of a brutally inflamed fury, fairly

ripped loose the fingers.

"Also!" he panted, seizing the stiffened body from the floor and

lifting it. "Hold you him by the long and Yankee legs once, und I

push him out----"

"Out of the port?"

"Gewiss! Otherwise he recovers to raise some hell!"

"It is not necessary. How shall this man know?"

"You left your handkerchief. He iss no fool. He makes a noise. No, it

iss safer we push him overboard."