I opened the door and peeped down the corridor. Except for the retreating form of the stewardess, there was nobody in sight.

Drunk! So that was the explanation of it. My histrionic talents had been wasted. I pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and said:

“Come out at once, please,” in an acid voice.

There was no answer. I peered under the bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did not move.

“Dead drunk,” I thought vexedly. “What am I to do?”

Then I saw something that made me catch my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor.