Page:Arthur Stringer - Gun Runner.djvu/98

 walls that outraged the nostrils like the effluvial dampness of a nighthawk's cab. No one ventured on deck.

McKinnon, during that enforced armistice, escaped a day of total inaction by packing away his belongings. That task accomplished, he overhauled his helix and drafted a casing for his dynamo. As the afternoon deepened into evening, and the wind fell, he coerced his attention on his Ruhmkorff-coil models. He was still studying over his reed-disk apparatus when an unexpected tap sounded on his door.

Even before he had time to answer, the door itself was opened. It was the girl in the pilot-cloth gown, his visitor of the night before. She looked back one intent moment, as though to make sure she was not being watched or followed. Then she quietly closed the door and as quietly slid the brass bolt that stood under the knob, locking herself in the cabin.

She smiled, a little nervously and yet spiritedly, as she caught sight of the other's concerned and puzzled face. Then her own face became quite sober. Again McKinnon was conscious of a faint perfume pervading the place. It seemed as finely feminine to him as the rustling of skirts. And again he was impressed by the ebullient sense of buoyancy, of youthful