Manchurian Books

Huldricksson was breathing deeply and regularly.
I drew my electric-flash, and shielding its rays from my face, looked
at him. His sleep was changing from the heavy stupor of the drug into
one that was at least on the borderland of the normal. The tongue had
lost its arid blackness and the mouth secretions had resumed action.
Satisfied as to his condition I returned to deck.
O'Keefe was there, looking like a spectre in the cotton sheet he had
wrapped about him. A deck table had been cleated down and one of the
Tonga boys was setting it for our dinner. Soon the very creditable
larder of the Suwarna dressed the board, and O'Keefe, Da Costa, and I
attacked it. The night had grown close and oppressive. Behind us the
forward light of the Brunhilda glided and the binnacle lamp threw up a
faint glow in which her black helmsman's face stood out mistily.
O'Keefe had looked curiously a number of times at our tow, but had
asked no questions.
"You're not the only passenger we picked up today," I told him.


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