whisky in the office?"






CHAPTER XI





Capt. Michael J. Murphy's futile tears of rage having dried almost as
quickly as they came, he crawled painfully out of his berth and
lighted a match, to discover he was a prisoner in his own state-room.
He turned another electric switch, but still the room remained in
darkness.

"Sneaking out of Pernambuco with the lights doused," he soliloquized.
Then he remembered a little stump of candle he kept in his desk for
use when heating sealing wax, so he lighted the candle and by its
meager rays took inventory of his features in the little mirror over
his washstand.

"By the Toe Nails of Moses," he soliloquized, "somebody's sea-boots
did that, and if I ever find out who was wearing them at the time
there'll be a fight or a footrace. I'm a total wreck and no
insurance--yes, thank God! here's the ship's medicine chest."