Dangerous Cargo
“— THE SHOW-DOWN AT six-thirty that evening, Mme. Storey, Horace and I were waiting in the sitting-room of our suite in a state of strained suspense.
Horace had been told of the trap we had set. In the interim the wind had risen and the yacht was pitching somewhat heavily. What with the excitement and the motion of the vessel I felt wretched.
Horace was glancing at his watch every few seconds. “If we set the door open we could see anybody who went down the corridor,” he said.
“Surely...,” said Mme. Storey. “And he could see us. In that case we would hear no details of the plot.”
She was moving restlessly about the room. Suddenly she bent her head to listen by the door.
“Somebody is passing now,” she said with a grim smile. “On tiptoe.”
Horace instantly sprang up, but she motioned him back.
We allowed the plotter—whoever it might be, time enough to get inside the steward’s storeroom, then Mme.MoreLess
Horace had been told of the trap we had set. In the interim the wind had risen and the yacht was pitching somewhat heavily. What with the excitement and the motion of the vessel I felt wretched.
Horace was glancing at his watch every few seconds. “If we set the door open we could see anybody who went down the corridor,” he said.
“Surely...,” said Mme. Storey. “And he could see us. In that case we would hear no details of the plot.”
She was moving restlessly about the room. Suddenly she bent her head to listen by the door.
“Somebody is passing now,” she said with a grim smile. “On tiptoe.”
Horace instantly sprang up, but she motioned him back.
We allowed the plotter—whoever it might be, time enough to get inside the steward’s storeroom, then Mme.MoreLess
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