“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
The man on the bunk pressed his temples with the palms of his hands.
“Look here,” he said. “You did a damn decent thing last night. I may be sorry now you did n’t let me fling myself in, but that ’s over and done with. I ’ve given you my word not to try it again and I won’t. I understand you ’ve got the news I ’m wanted for Roakby’s murder and Mrs. Trevelyan says you ’re going to hold it back. I don’t know why. I don’t ask. I can’t think. All I know is that just as I was going to do a cowardly act you stopped me. And, now, when I might be chucked into irons and held up as a murderer to the whole ship’s company—you come along and rescue me again!”
“Rather interesting, isn't it?” said Micky easily.
“You ’ve saved my life,” continued Cloud, “and—I wanted you to know I was n’t the ordinary sort of criminal.”
“I did n’t suppose you were,” remarked Micky. “Considering what I—what common report said about—the other fellow.”
“The beast!”
Cloud shook both his fists.
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