Kirk Anthony rose suddenly, moving as lightly upon his feet as a
dancer.

"You say he's below?"

Locke nodded. It was plain that he was quite unnerved.

Ringold rose in turn and lurched ponderously toward the door, but
Kirk stepped in front of him with a sharp word:

"Wait! I'll manage this."

"Lemme go," expostulated the centre-rush. "Locke's a good fellow
and this man wants to trim him."

"No, no! Sit down!" Ringold obeyed. "If he wants to join us, we'll
have him come up."

"What?" cried Locke, leaping nervously from his chair. "Don't do
that. I want to get out of here."

"Not a bit like it." Kirk's eyes were sparkling. "We'll give this
fellow the third degree and find out who his pals are."

"Grand idea!" Higgins seconded with enthusiasm. "Grand!"

"Hold on! I can't do that. I've got to sail at ten o'clock. I
don't dare get into trouble, don't you understand? It's
important." Locke seemed in an extraordinary panic.