"Let me breathe, you fool!" gasped Ganley. "Let me breathe!"
"You hound!" repeated McKinnon, thrown into a primitive and unreasoning passion of revolt against the brutality of the scene.
"I caught the she-cat—I caught her red-handed—I caught her coming through my door!" cried Ganley, getting his breath again.
"Are you hurt?" the operator demanded of the woman still motionless against the wall.
"No," she answered.
"Then I'll settle this with the gentleman myself, in his own cabin, or in the captain's, if he prefers."
But Ganley was on his feet at once.
"Nobody's going to leave this room," he declared with a gavel-like thud of an oath. "That woman's lifted documents o' mine that aren't going to get out o' this cabin."
McKinnon's less primordial instincts were slowly reasserting themselves. He looked from the one figure to the other, as though mystified by the case, as though uncertain of the charges being bandied back and forth.
"Who is this woman?" he demanded of Ganley with a sudden assumption of uncertainty.
"Who is she!" cried the exasperated Ganley. "I know who she is, and she knows I know!"
