"No," I said, "I didn't."
"I'm sorry for interrupting you."
"That's all right," I said. "I couldn't sleep. I thought a wash would do me good." It sounded rather as though it were a thing I never had as a general rule.
"I'm so sorry, miss," said the stewardess again. "But there's a gentleman about who's rather drunk, and we are afraid he might get into one of the ladies' cabins and frighten them."
"How dreadful," I said, looking alarmed. "He won't come in here, will he?"
"Oh, I don't think so, miss. Ring the bell if he does. Good night."
"Good night."
I opened the door and peeped down the corridor. Except for the retreating form of the stewardess, there was nobody in sight.
Drunk! So that was the explanation of it. My histrionic talents had been wasted. I pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and said:
"Come out at once, please," in an acid voice.
There was no answer. I peered under the bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did not move.
"Dead drunk," I thought vexedly. "What am I to do?"
Then I saw something that made me catch my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor.
Using all my strength, I succeeded in dragging the man out into the middle of the cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed that he had fainted. I found the cause of his fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed under the left shoulder-blade—a nasty deep wound. I got his coat off and set to work to attend to it.
At the sting of the cold water he stirred, then sat up.
