foolishly waving feelers. Ganley, watching him, backed toward the door.
"I'll not say good-night," he purred, with mock affability. "If you're still in doubt about anything, you'll find me on the deck here all right!"
The operator watched him as he went through the door and as he wheeled about for one malignant and admonitory stare into the cabin.
From the depths of his soul McKinnon resented that smile.
"You own this ship?" he asked, with a quietness that might have disturbed a less intrepid spirit. From that hour forward, he was beginning to feel, dissimulation would be useless.
"No, but I'm going to," was Ganley's placid retort. He had taken out one of his evil-looking thick, black cigars, and was proceeding to light it with the utmost leisure.
"And this is your apparatus?"
"And my particular little corner of the earth," responded Ganley, with the studiously voluptuous satisfaction of the idealist who has achieved his dream.
McKinnon's eyes narrowed. The taste of being beaten at the only game he knew how to play was growing very bitter in his mouth.
"And supposing I can't kill this message?" he ventured. Had the words not been in the
