Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/68

 vague feeling of irritation seemed to merge into something that was almost anger as he watched the stranger slowly rise to his feet and cross over to the cabin door, held back against the wall-plates by its brass hook. He lifted the end of this hook on his toe and let the freed door swing shut with the slow dip of the steamer's deck. Then he ruffled out the faded denim curtain and came back and sat down. The two men continued to look at each other guardedly.

"I've got a hard job ahead of me," began the intruder, seeming to feel his way as he went. "A hard job—and you're the only man on this ship who can help me along."

"Go on," McKinnon commanded with an impatient reach for his discarded coat.

"That's just it. I'll be hanged if I know how to go on!" the other explained. He gave vent to a guttural laugh of uneasiness and sat stroking his pendulous, turkey-cock throat. The operator, drumming on his pine table-edge, waited in silence. The other man was also silent. The pulse and throb of the engines crept into the white-walled cabin.

"Well," said McKinnon with a significant glance toward his large and authoritative silver watch. The stranger's eye, following him, passed on to the key-lever and then on again to the helix wires.