Adventure, November 1915 — page 171: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Gold at Sea us timidly and showed evident terror at the sight of the dead man on the table. “Where have you been keeping yourself this evening?’’ demanded Dacy sternly. “S’ ’elp me, Hi ayn’t done nothink, Guv- narh,’’ whined Dooin, cringing before the Captain’s look. ‘Hi been in my bunk all hevening, sir, Hi ’arve.”’ “FHumph!” grunted Dacy. He turned to Farley. ‘‘What do you think?”’ he asked. “That little fish knows nothing!’ the doc- tor snorted contemptuously. “He hasn’t nerve enough to tackle a louse. It is this man—” and he indicated me—‘‘who must be responsible. He is large: enough, and a fighting brute. Good Lord, think what happened! Neck broken—snapped clean; face congested from choking!” “Humph,” remarked Dacy again. “Can you lift Podd out of his dream?” : “No, he doesn’t respond to the restora- tive,” said Farley. ‘It is serious for him, too. He has taken enough dope to lay out a dozen men, and his heart is bad.” “No matter,” responded Dacy indiffer- ently. “We have no further need of him. But that message he sent——” “Bosh!” interrupted Farley. “He dis- covered his dope and it went to his head. Overdose—common occurrence. He couldn’t have sent a coherent message if his life depended upon it. Why, he was eating the stuff when we grabbed him.” “No, and he knew nothing that could in- terfere with our plans,” commented Dacy. ‘Well, we have had an exciting evening— eh, what!’ His exclamation was caused by Podd him- self. For a sudden gleam of intelligence had dissipated the film upon his eyes. He shud- dered violently. Suddenly he arose to his feet with jerks, as if his joints were hinges. It was a repulsive sight as he leaned his cadaverous face over the true cadaver, and I watched him with a thrill of impending disaster. I was in his direct line of vision. He bob- bed his head toward me with great effort. He slavered at the mouth. “He—he—he!”’ he gibbered. “What does he mean?”’ cried Farley. Podd struggled to speak, but not another sound issued from his writhing lips. Slow- ly his face froze again to its stony, set ex- pression. He swayed and pitched forward upon his face across Henderson’s corpse. We all surged toward him. Farley and Se oe : 169 the navy man eased him to the floor. Far- ley kneeled by his side. “Gone,” he stated. “Gone!” I echoed. dead?” He nodded, looking up at me with eyes that stabbed through his glasses. “Not quite, but soon. Rotten heart— too much dope.”’ I held myself in hand with an effort. I felt sick. Another death, and for which I was at least partly responsible! Their utter callousness and the part I had been com- pelled to play filled me with disgust, the more fierce because I had to conceal it. A clean, fair fight, even though there be a death, leaves no regret. But this black business was different. “What did he mean by indicating you?” demanded Farley of me, as he rose to his feet. “There is something wrong here, Cap- tain,” he added, turning to Dacy. “Podd meant something—McN eil has been doing something, just as I told you.” Dacy regarded me speculatively, but his gaze was not hostile, as was Farley’s. “No, no, you are overwrought, doctor,” he said. “You, yourself, remarked that no dependence could be placed upon Podd’s statements.” “Here, you,” he addressed the sailor. “Pick Podd up and lay him on the divan, there. Then call one*of your mates from above, and get this carrion out of here. We have no more time to waste—we must be getting under way again.” The navy man obediently leaned over and gathered Podd in his arms, as if he were a sack of flour. He lugged him to the divan and dropped him upon the cushions. The sailor advanced toward the table. Farley was scrutinizing the corpse. “Wait!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Do you mean he is He lifted one of the clenched hands, forced it open and grasped something. “By ——! Look at this!” he cried. He held up his hand. I repressed a gasp, and involuntarily clutched at my missing breast-pocket. For Farley’s hand held a piece of cloth—of dungaree cloth, and I alone was dressed in dungarees. rm eyes. The deserter leaped to my ‘side and forced my arm down from my breast. The bare, ragged space where the pocket should have been was disclosed. I FELT myself the target for all COnniiebooks com