"All right," he said. "An hour or so won't make much difference. But you'll be free today, all right, all right. And don't let them bluff you, boy. If the police get funny, tackle them and throw 'em overboard, one by one. You can do it."

He made an insulting gesture at the police, picked up his oars, and rowed away into the mist.

But I was not free, that day, nor for many days. As I had expected, Turner, his family, Mrs. Johns, and the stewardess were released, after examination. The rest of us were taken to jail. Singleton as a suspect, the others to make sure of their presence at the trial.

The murders took place on the morning of August 12. The Grand jury met late in September, and found an indictment against Singleton. The trial began on the 16th of November.

The confinement was terrible. Accustomed to regular exercise as I was, I suffered mentally and physically. I heard nothing from Elsa Lee, and I missed McWhirter, who had got his hospital appointment, and who wrote me cheering letters on pages torn from order-books or on prescription-blanks. He was in Boston.

He got leave of absence for the trial, and, as I explained, the following notes are his, not mine. The case was tried in the United States Court, before Circuit Judge Willard and District Judge McDowell. The United States was represented by a district attorney and two assistant attorneys. Singleton had retained a lawyer named Goldstein, a clever young Jew.

I was called first, as having found the bodies.

"Your name?"

"Ralph Leslie."

"Your age?"

"Twenty-four."

"When and where were you born?"

"November 18, 1887, in Columbus, Ohio."

"When did you ship on the yacht Ella?"

"On July 27."

"When did she sail?"

"July 28."

"Are you a sailor by occupation?"

"No; I am a graduate of a medical college."

"What were your duties on the ship?"

"They were not well defined. I had been ill and was not strong. I was a sort of deck steward, I suppose. I also served a few meals in the cabin of the after house, when the butler was incapacitated."

"Where were you quartered?"

"In the forecastle, with the crew, until a day or so before the murders. Then I moved into the after house, and slept in a storeroom there."

"Why did you make the change?"

"Mrs. Johns, a guest, asked me to do so. She said she was nervous."

"Who slept in the after house?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Turner, Miss Lee, Mrs. Johns, and Mr. Vail. The stewardess, Mrs. Sloane, and Karen Hansen, a maid, also slept there; but their room opened from the chartroom."

A diagram of the after house was here submitted to the jury. For the benefit of the reader, I reproduce it roughly. I have made no attempt to do more than to indicate the relative positions of rooms and companionways.

__ Forward __ Compartment _____ __ _____ bath __ / / \_ _ __ /Turner's/ Mrs. /room_ _/ John's /_/ / room Main Cabin / / / \_ _ / /_ _/bath Mrs. / Vail's /room Turner's \_ /__/ room / _/linen \_ /_/store/ bath /_ room / /_/_/ \_ /general / Miss /supplies/ Lee's /__/ room \__\_ __/__/butler's \_maid's Chart Room / pantry room used as library / bunk - _ and lounge_ / \_\_\_\__ _ _/ bunk (wheel) _

"State what happened on the night of August 11 and early morning of August 12."

"I slept in the storeroom in the after house. As it was very hot, I always left the door open. The storeroom itself was a small room, lined with shelves, and reached by a passageway. The door was at the end of the passage. I wakened because of the heat, and found the door locked on the outside. I lit a match, and found I could unscrew the lock with my knife. I thought I had been locked in as a joke by the crew. While I was kneeling, some one passed outside the door."

"How did you know that?"

"I felt a board rise under my knee as if the other end had been trod on. Shortly after, a woman screamed, and I burst open the door."

"How long after you felt the board rise?"

"Perhaps a minute, possibly two."

"Go on."

"Just after, the ship's bell struck six—three o'clock. The main cabin was dark. There was a light in the chart-room, from the binnacle light. I felt my way to Mr. Vail's room. I heard him breathing. His door was open. I struck a match and looked at him. He had stopped breathing."

"What was the state of his bunk?"

"Disordered—horrible. He was almost hacked to pieces."

"Go on."

"I ran back and got my revolver. I thought there had been a mutiny-"

"Confine yourself to what you saw and did. The court is not interested in what you thought."

"I am only trying to explain what I did. I ran back to the storeroom and got my revolver, and ran back through the chart-room to the after companion, which had a hood. I thought that if any one was lying in ambush, the hood would protect me until I could get to the deck. I told the helmsman what had happened, and ran forward. Mr. Singleton was on the forecastle-head. We went below together, and found the captain lying at the foot of the forward companion, also dead."

"At this time, had you called the owner of the ship?"

"No. I called him then. But I could not rouse him."

"Explain what you mean by that."

"He had been drinking."

There followed a furious wrangle over this point; but the prosecuting attorney succeeded in having question and answer stand.

"What did you do next?"

"The mate had called the crew. I wakened Mrs. Turner, Miss Lee, and Mrs. Johns, and then went to the chart-room to call the women there. The door was open an inch or so. I received no answer to my knock, and pulled it open. Karen Hansen, the maid, was dead on the floor, and the stewardess was in her bunk, in a state of collapse."

"State where you found the axe with which the crimes were committed."

"It was found in the stewardess's bunk."

"Where is this axe now?"

"It was stolen from the captain's cabin, where it was locked for safe keeping, and presumably thrown overboard. At least, we didn't find it."

"I see you are consulting a book to refresh your memory. What is this book?"

"The ship's log."

"How does it happen to be in your possession?"

"The crew appointed me captain. As such, I kept the log-book. It contains a full account of the discovery of the bodies, witnessed by all the men."

"Is it in your writing?"

"Yes; it is in my writing."

"You read it to the men, and they signed it?"

"No; they read it themselves before they signed it."

After a wrangle as to my having authority to make a record in the log-book, the prosecuting attorney succeeded in having the book admitted as evidence, and read to the jury the entry of August 13.

Having thus proved the crimes, I was excused, to be recalled later. The defense reserving its cross-examination, the doctor from the quarantine station was called next, and testified to the manner of death. His testimony was revolting, and bears in no way on the story, save in one particular—a curious uniformity in the mutilation of the bodies of Vail and Captain Richardson—a sinister similarity that was infinitely shocking. In each case the forehead, the two arms, and the abdomen had received a frightful blow. In the case of the Danish girl there was only one wound—the injury on the head.



CHAPTER XX

OLESON'S STORY

HENRIETTA SLOANE was called next.

"Your name?"

"Henrietta Sloane."

"Are you married?"

"A widow."

"When and where were you born?"

"Isle of Man, December 11 1872."

"How long have you lived in the United States?"

"Since I was two."

"Your position on the yacht Ella?"

"Stewardess."

"Before that?"

"On the Baltic, between Liverpool and New York. That was how I met Mrs. Turner."

"Where was your room on the yacht Ella?"

"Off the chartroom."

"Will you indicate it on this diagram?"

"It was there." (Pointing.)

The diagram was shown to the jury.

"There are two bunks in this room. Which was yours?"

"The one at the side—the one opposite the door was Karen's."

"Tell what happened on the night of August 11 and morning of the 12th."

"I went to bed early. Karen Hansen had not come down by midnight. When I opened the door, I saw why. Mr. Turner and Mr. Singleton were there, drinking."

The defense objected to this but was overruled by the court.

"Mr. Vail was trying to persuade the mate to go on deck, before the captain came down."

"Did they go?"

"No."

"What comment did Mr. Singleton make?"

"He said he hoped the captain would come. He wanted a chance to get at him."

"What happened after that?"

"The captain came down and ordered the mate on deck. Mr. Vail and the captain got Mr. Turner to his room."

"How do you know that?"

"I opened my door."

"What then?"

"Karen came down at 12.30. We went to bed. At ten minutes to three the bell rang for Karen. She got up and put on a wrapper and slippers. She was grumbling and I told her to put out the light and let me sleep. As she opened the door she screamed and fell back on the floor. Something struck me on the shoulder, and I fainted. I learned later it was the axe."

"Did you hear any sound outside, before you opened the door?"

"A curious chopping sound. I spoke of it to her. It came from the chart-room."

"When the girl fell back into the room, did you see any one beyond her?"

"I saw something—I couldn't say just what."

"Was what you saw a figure?"

"I—I am not certain. It was light—almost white." "Can you not describe it?"

"I am afraid not—except that it seemed white."

"How tall was it?"

"I couldn't say."

"As tall as the girl?"

"Just about, perhaps."

"Think of something that it resembled. This is important, Mrs. Sloane. You must make an effort."

"I think it looked most like a fountain."

Even the jury laughed at this, and yet, after all, Mrs. Sloane was right—or nearly so!

"That is curious. How did it resemble a fountain?"

"Perhaps I should have said a fountain in moonlight white, and misty, and—and flowing."

"And yet, this curious-shaped object threw the axe at you, didn't it?"

There was an objection to the form of this question, but the court overruled it.

"I did not say it threw the axe. I did not see it thrown. I felt it."

"Did you know the first mate, Singleton, before you met on the Ella?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"We were on the same vessel two years ago, the American, for Bermuda."

"Were you friends?"

"Yes"—very low.

"Were you engaged to marry him at one time?"

"Yes."

"Why did you break it off?"

"We differed about a good many things."

After a long battle, the prosecuting attorney was allowed to show that, following the breaking off of her relations with Singleton, she had been a witness against him in an assault-and-battery case, and had testified to his violence of temper. The dispute took so long that there was only time for her cross-examination. The effect of the evidence, so far, was distinctly bad for Singleton.

His attorney, a young and intelligent Jew, cross-examined Mrs. Sloane.

Attorney for the defense: "Did you ever write a letter to the defendant, Mrs. Sloane, threatening him if he did not marry you?"

"I do not recall such a letter."

"Is this letter in your writing?"

"I think so. Yes."

"Mrs. Sloane, you testify that you opened your door and saw Mr. Vail and the captain taking Mr. Turner to his room. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Why did they take him? I mean, was he not able, apparently, to walk alone?"

"He was able to walk. They walked beside him."

"In your testimony, taken at the time and entered in the ship's log, you say you 'judged by the sounds.' Here you say you 'opened the door and saw them.' Which is correct?"

"I saw them."

"You say that Mr. Singleton said he wished to 'get at' the captain. Are those his exact words?"

"I do not recall his exact words."

"Perhaps I can refresh your mind. With the permission of the court, I shall read from the ship's log this woman's statement, recorded by the man who was in charge of the vessel, and therefore competent to make such record, and signed by the witness as having been read and approved by her:—

"'Mr. Singleton said that he hoped the captain would come, as he and Mr. Turner only wanted a chance to get at him.... There was a sound outside, and Karen thought it was Mr. Turner falling over something, and said that she hoped she would not meet him. Once or twice, when he had been drinking, he had made overtures to her, and she detested him.... She opened the door and came back into the room, touching me on the arm. "That beast is out there," she said, "sitting on the companion steps. If he tries to stop me, I'll call you."'"

The reading made a profound impression. The prosecution, having succeeded in having the log admitted as evidence, had put a trump card in the hands of the defense.

"What were the relations between Mr. Turner and the captain?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Were they friendly?"

"No—not very."

"Did you overhear, on the night of August 9, a conversation between Mr. Turner and Mr. Vail?"

"Yes."

"What was its nature?"

"They were quarreling."

"What did Williams, the butler, give you to hide, that night?"

"Mr. Turner's revolver."

"What did he say when he gave it to you?"

"He—said to throw it overboard or there would be trouble."

"Mrs. Sloane, do you recognize these two garments?"

He held up a man's dinner shirt and a white waistcoat. The stewardess, who had been calm enough, started and paled.

"I cannot tell without examining them." (They were given to her, and she looked at them.) "Yes, I have seen them."

"What are they?"

"A shirt and waistcoat of Mr. Turner's."

"When did you see them last?"

"I packed them in my trunk when we left the boat. They had been forgotten when the other trunks were packed."

"Had you washed them?"

"No."

"Were they washed on shipboard?"

"They look like it. They have not been ironed."

"Who gave them to you to pack in your trunk?"

"Mrs. Johns."

"What did you do with them on reaching New York?"

"I left them in my trunk."

"Why did you not return them to Mr. Turner?"

"I was ill, and forgot. I'd like to know what right you have going through a person's things—and taking what you want!"

The stewardess was excused, the defense having scored perceptibly. It was clear what line the young Jew intended to follow.

Oleson, the Swede, was called next, and after the usual formalities:—

"Where were you between midnight and 4 A.M. on the morning of August 12?"

"In the crow's-nest of the Ella."

"State what you saw between midnight and one o'clock."

"I saw Mate Singleton walking on the forecastle-head. Every now and then he went to the rail. He seemed to be vomiting. It was too dark to see much. Then he went aft along the port side of the house, and came forward again on the starboard side. He went to where the axe was kept."

"Where was that?"

"Near the starboard corner of the forward house. All the Turner boats have an emergency box, with an axe and other tools, in easy reach. The officer on watch carried the key."

"Could you see what he was doing?"

"No; but he was fumbling at the box. I heard him."

"Where did he go after that?"

"He went aft."

"You could not see him?"

"I didn't look. I thought I saw something white moving below me, and I was watching it."

"This white thing—what did it look like?" "Like a dog, I should say. It moved about, and then disappeared."

"How?"

"I don't understand."

"Over the rail?"

"Oh—no, sir. It faded away."

"Had you ever heard talk among the men of the Ella being a haunted ship?"

"Yes—but not until after I'd signed on her!"

"Was there some talk of this 'white thing'?"

"Yes."

"Before the murders?"

"No, sir; not till after. I guess I saw it first."

"What did the men say about it?"

"They thought it scared Mr. Schwartz overboard. The Ella's been unlucky as to crews. They call her a 'devil ship.'"

"Did you see Mr. Singleton on deck between two and three o'clock?"

"No, sir."

The cross-examination was very short:—

"What sort of night was it?"

"Very dark."

"Would the first mate, as officer on watch, be supposed to see that the emergency case you speak of was in order?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did the officer on watch remain on the forecastle-head?"

"Mr. Schwartz did not; Mr. Singleton did, mostly except when he went back to strike the bells."

"Could Mr. Singleton have been on deck without you seeing him?"

"Yes, if he did not move around or smoke. I could see his pipe lighted."

"Did you see his pipe that night?"

"No, sir."

"If you were sick, would you be likely to smoke?"

This question, I believe, was ruled out.

"In case the wheel of the vessel were lashed for a short time, what would happen?"

"Depends on the weather. She'd be likely to come to or fall off considerable."

"Would the lookout know it?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"The sails would show it, sir."

That closed the proceedings for the day. The crowd seemed reluctant to disperse. Turner's lawyers were in troubled consultation with him. Singleton was markedly more cheerful, and I thought the prosecution looked perturbed and uneasy. I went back to jail that night, and dreamed of Elsa—not as I had seen her that day, bending forward, watching every point of the evidence, but as I had seen her so often on the yacht, facing into the salt breeze as if she loved it, her hands in the pockets of her short white jacket, her hair blowing back from her forehead in damp, close-curling rings.



CHAPTER XXI

"A BAD WOMAN"

Charlie Jones was called first, on the second day of the trial. He gave his place of birth as Pennsylvania, and his present shore address as a Sailors' Christian Home in New York. He offered, without solicitation, the information that he had been twenty-eight years in the Turner service, and could have been "up at the top," but preferred the forecastle, so that he could be an influence to the men.

His rolling gait, twinkling blue eyes, and huge mustache, as well as the plug of tobacco which he sliced with a huge knife, put the crowd in good humor, and relieved somewhat the somberness of the proceedings.

"Where were you between midnight and 4 A.M. on the morning of August 12?"

"At the wheel."

"You did not leave the wheel during that time?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was that?"

"After they found the captain's body. I went to the forward companion and looked down."

"Is a helmsman permitted to leave his post?"

"With the captain lying dead down in a pool of blood, I should think-"

"Never mind thinking. Is he?"

"No."

"What did you do with the wheel when you left it?"

"Lashed it. There are two rope-ends, with loops, to lash it with. When I was on the Sarah Winters—"

"Stick to the question. Did you see the mate, Mr. Singleton, during your watch?"

"Every half-hour from 12.30 to 1.30. He struck the bells. After that he said he was sick. He thought he'd been poisoned. He said he was going forward to lie down, and for me to strike them."

"Who struck the bell at three o'clock?"

"I did, sir."

"When did you hear a woman scream?"

"Just before that."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. It was the Hansen woman. I didn't like her. She was a bad woman. When I told her what she was, she laughed."

"Were you ever below in the after house?"

"No, sir; not since the boat was fixed up."

"What could you see through the window beside the wheel?"

"It looked into the chart-room. If the light was on, I could see all but the floor."

"Between the hours of 1 a.m. and 3 a.m., did any one leave or enter the after house by the after companion?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Singleton went down into the chart-room, and came back again in five or ten minutes."

"At what time?"

"At four bells—two o'clock."

"No one else?"

"No, sir; but I saw Mr. Turner—"

"Confine yourself to the question. What was Mr. Singleton's manner at the time you mention?"

"He was excited. He brought up a bottle of whiskey from the chart-room table, and drank what was left in it. Then he muttered something, and threw the empty bottle over the rail. He said he was still sick."

The cross-examination confined itself to one detail of Charlie Jones's testimony.

"Did you, between midnight and 3 A.M., see any one in the chart-room besides the mate?"

"Yes—Mr. Turner."

"You say you cannot see into the chart-room from the wheel at night. How did you see him?"

"He turned on the light. He seemed to be looking for something."

"Was he dressed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you describe what he wore?"

"Yes, sir. His coat was off. He had a white shirt and a white vest."

"Were the shirt and vest similar to these I show you?"

"Most of them things look alike to me. Yes, sir."

The defense had scored again. But it suffered at the hands of Burns, the next witness. I believe the prosecution had intended to call Turner at this time; but, after a whispered conference with Turner's attorneys, they made a change. Turner, indeed, was in no condition to go on the stand. He was pallid and twitching, and his face was covered with sweat.

Burns corroborated the testimony against Singleton—his surly temper, his outbursts of rage, his threats against the captain. And he brought out a new point: that Jones, the helmsman, had been afraid of Singleton that night, and had asked not to be left alone at the wheel.

During this examination the prosecution for the first time made clear their position: that the captain was murdered first; that Vail interfered, and, pursued by Singleton, took refuge in his bunk, where he was slaughtered; that the murderer, bending to inspect his horrid work, had unwittingly touched the bell that roused Karen Hansen, and, crouching in the chartroom with the axe, had struck her as she opened the door.

The prosecution questioned Burns about the axe and its disappearance.

"Who suggested that the axe be kept in the captain's cabin?"

"Leslie, acting as captain."

"Who had the key?"

"I carried it on a strong line around my neck."

"Whose arrangement was that?"

"Leslie's. He had the key to Mr. Singleton's cabin, and I carried this one. We divided the responsibility."

"Did you ever give the key to any one?"

"No, sir."

"Did it ever leave you?"

"Not until it was taken away."

"When was that?"

"On Saturday morning, August 22, shortly before dawn."

"Tell what happened."

"I was knocked down from behind, while I was standing at the port forward corner of the after house. The key was taken from me while I was unconscious."

"Did you ever see the white object that has been spoken of by the crew?"

"No, sir. I searched the deck one night when Adams, the lookout, raised an alarm. We found nothing except—"

"Go on."

"He threw down a marlinespike at something moving in the bow. The spike disappeared. We couldn't find it, although we could see where it had struck the deck. Afterwards we found a marlinespike hanging over the ship's side by a lanyard. It might have been the one we looked for."

"Explain 'lanyard."'

"A cord—a sort of rope."

"It could not have fallen over the side and hung there?"

"It was fastened with a Blackwell hitch."

"Show us what you mean."

On cross-examination by Singleton's attorney, Burns was forced to relate the incident of the night before his injury—that Mrs. Johns had asked to see the axe, and he had shown it to her. He maintained stoutly that she had not been near the bunk, and that the axe was there when he locked the door.

Adams, called, testified to seeing a curious, misty-white object on the forecastle-head. It had seemed to come over the bow. The marlinespike he threw had had no lanyard.

Mrs. Turner and Miss Lee escaped with a light examination. Their evidence amounted to little, and was practically the same. They had retired early, and did not rouse until I called them. They remained in their rooms most of the time after that, and were busy caring for Mr. Turner, who had been ill. Mrs. Turner was good enough to say that I had made them as safe and as comfortable as possible.

The number of witnesses to be examined, and the searching grilling to which most of them were subjected, would have dragged the case to interminable length, had it not been for the attitude of the judges, who discouraged quibbling and showed a desire to reach the truth with the least possible delay. One of the judges showed the wide and unbiased attitude of the court by a little speech after an especially venomous contest.

"Gentlemen," he said, "we are attempting to get to a solution of this thing. We are trying one man, it is true, but, in a certain sense, we are trying every member of the crew, every person who was on board the ship the night of the crime. We have a curious situation. The murderer is before us, either in the prisoner's dock or among the witnesses. Let us get at the truth without bickering."

Mrs. Johns was called, following Miss Lee. I watched her carefully on the stand. I had never fathomed Mrs. Johns, or her attitude toward the rest of the party. I had thought, at the beginning of the cruise, that Vail and she were incipient lovers. But she had taken his death with a calmness that was close to indifference. There was something strange and inexplicable in her tigerish championship of Turner—and it remains inexplicable even now. I have wondered since—was she in love with Turner, or was she only a fiery partisan? I wonder!

She testified with an insolent coolness that clearly irritated the prosecution—thinking over her replies, refusing to recall certain things, and eyeing the jury with long, slanting glances that set them, according to their type, either wriggling or ogling.

The first questions were the usual ones. Then:

"Do you recall the night of the 31st of July?"

"Can you be more specific?"

"I refer to the night when Captain Richardson found the prisoner in the chart-room and ordered him on deck."

"I recall that, yes."

"Where were you during the quarrel?"

"I was behind Mr. Vail."

"Tell us about it, please."

"It was an ordinary brawl. The captain knocked the mate down."

"Did you hear the mate threaten the captain?"

"No. He went on deck, muttering; I did not hear what was said."

"After the crimes, what did you do?"

"We established a dead-line at the foot of the forward companion. The other was locked."

"Was there a guard at the top of the companion?"

"Yes; but we trusted no one."

"Where was Mr. Turner?"

"Ill, in his cabin."

"How ill?"

"Very. He was delirious."

"Did you allow any one down?"

"At first, Leslie, a sort of cabin-boy and deck steward, who seemed to know something of medicine. Afterward we would not allow him, either."

"Why?"

"We did not trust him."

"This Leslie—why had you asked him to sleep in the storeroom?"

"I—was afraid."

"Will you explain why you were afraid?"

"Fear is difficult to explain, isn't it? If one knows why one is afraid, one—er—generally isn't."

"That's a bit subtle, I'm afraid. You were afraid, then, without knowing why?"

"Yes."

"Had you a revolver on board?'"

"Yes."

"Whose revolver was kept on the cabin table?"

"Mine. I always carry one."

"Always?"

"Yes."

"Then—have you one with you now?"

"Yes."

"When you asked the sailor Burns to let you see the axe, what did you give as a reason?"

"The truth—curiosity."

"Then, having seen the axe, where did you go?"

"Below."

"Please explain the incident of the two articles Mr. Goldstein showed to the jury yesterday, the shirt and waistcoat."

"That was very simple. Mr. Turner had been very ill. We took turns in caring for him. I spilled a bowl of broth over the garments that were shown, and rubbed them out in the bathroom. They were hung in the cabin used by Mr. Vail to dry, and I forgot them when we were packing."

The attorney for the defense cross-examined her:

"What color were the stains you speak of?"

"Darkish—red-brown."

"What sort of broth did you spill?"

"That's childish, isn't it? I don't recall."

"You recall its color."

"It was beef broth."

"Mrs. Johns, on the night you visited the forward house and viewed the axe, did you visit it again?"

"The axe, or the forward house?"

"The house."

She made one of her long pauses. Finally:—

"Yes."

"When?"

"Between three and four o'clock."

"Who went with you?"

"I went alone."

"Why did you go beyond the line that was railed off for your safety?"

(Sharply.) "Because I wished to. I was able to take care of myself."

"Why did you visit the forward house?"

"I was nervous and could not sleep. I thought no one safe while the axe was on the ship."

"Did you see the body of Burns, the sailor, lying on the deck at that time?"

"He might have been there; I did not see him."

"Are you saying that you went to the forward house to throw the axe overboard?"

"Yes—if I could get in."

"Did you know why the axe was being kept?"

"Because the murders had been committed with it."

"Had you heard of any finger-prints on the handle?"

"No."

"Did it occur to you that you were interfering with justice in disposing of the axe?"

"Do you mean justice or law? They are not the same."

"Tell us about your visit to the forward house."

"It was between two and three. I met no one. I had a bunch of keys from the trunks and from four doors in the after house. Miss Lee knew I intended to try to get rid of the axe. I did not need my keys. The door was open—-wide open. I—I went in, and—"

Here, for the first time, Mrs. Johns's composure forsook her. She turned white, and her maid passed up to her a silver smelling-salts bottle.

"What happened when you went in?"

"It was dark. I stood just inside. Then something rushed past me and out of the door, a something—I don't know what—a woman, I thought at first, in white."

"If the room was dark, how could you tell it was white?"

"There was a faint light—enough to see that. There was no noise—just a sort of swishing sound."

"What did you do then?"

"I waited a moment, and hurried back to the after house."

"Was the axe gone then?"

"I do not know."

"Did you see the axe at that time?"

"No."

"Did you touch it?"

"I have never touched it, at that time or before."

She could not be shaken in her testimony and was excused. She had borne her grilling exceedingly well, and, in spite of her flippancy, there was a ring of sincerity about the testimony that gave it weight.

Following her evidence, the testimony of Tom, the cook, made things look bad for Singleton, by connecting him with Mrs. Johns's intruder in the captain's room. He told of Singleton's offer to make him a key to the galley with wire. It was clear that Singleton had been a prisoner in name only, and this damaging statement was given weight when, on my recall later, I identified the bunch of keys, the file, and the club that I had taken from Singleton's mattress. It was plain enough that, with Singleton able to free himself as he wished, the attack on Burns and the disappearance of the axe were easily enough accounted for. It would have been possible, also, to account for the white figure that had so alarmed the men, on the same hypothesis. Cross-examination of Tom by Mr. Goldstein, Singleton's attorney, brought out one curious fact. He had made no dark soup or broth for the after house. Turner had taken nothing during his illness but clam bouillon, made with milk, and the meals served to the four women had been very light. "They lived on toast and tea, mostly," he said.

That completed the taking of evidence for the day. In spite of the struggles of the clever young Jew, the weight of testimony was against Singleton. But there were curious discrepancies.

Turner went on the stand the next morning.



CHAPTER XXII

TURNER'S STORY

"Your name?"

"Marshall Benedict Turner."

"Your residence?"

"West 106th Street, New York City."

"Your occupation?"

"Member of the firm of L. Turner's Sons, shipowners. In the coast trade."

"Do you own the yacht Ella?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize this chart?"

"Yes. It is the chart of the after house of the Ella."

"Will you show where your room is on the drawing?"

"Here."

"And Mr. Vail's?"

"Next, connecting through a bath-room."

"Where was Mr. Vail's bed on the chart?"

"Here, against the storeroom wall."

"With your knowledge of the ship and its partitions, do you think that a crime could be committed, a crime of the violent nature of this one, without making a great deal of noise and being heard in the storeroom?"

Violent opposition developing to this question, it was changed in form and broken up. Eventually, Turner answered that the partitions were heavy and he thought it possible.

"Were the connecting doors between your room and Mr. Vail's generally locked at night?"

"Yes. Not always."

"Were they locked on this particular night?"

"I don't remember."

"When did you see Mr. Vail last?"

"At midnight, or about that. I—I was not well. He went with me to my room."

"What were your relations with Mr. Vail?"

"We were old friends."

"Did you hear any sound in Mr. Vail's cabin that night?"

"None. But, as I say, I was—ill. I might not have noticed."

"Did you leave your cabin that night of August 11 or early morning of the 12th?"

"Not that I remember."

"The steersman has testified to seeing you, without your coat, in the chart-room, at two o'clock. Were you there?"

"I may have been—I think not."

"Why do you say you 'may have been—I think not'?"

"I was ill. The next day I was delirious. I remember almost nothing of that time."

"Did you know the woman Karen Hansen?"

"Only as a maid in my wife's employ."

"Did you hear the crash when Leslie broke down the door of the storeroom?"

"No. I was in a sort of stupor."

"Did you know the prisoner before you employed him on the Ella?"

"Yes; he had been in our employ several times."

"What was his reputation—I mean, as a ship's officer?"

"Good."

"Do you recall the night of the 31st of July?"

"Quite well."

"Please tell what you know about it."

"I had asked Mr. Singleton below to have a drink with me. Captain Richardson came below and ordered him on deck. They had words, and he knocked Singleton down."

"Did you hear the mate threaten to 'get' the captain, then or later?"

"He may have made some such threat."

"Is there a bell in your cabin connecting with the maids' cabin off the chart-room?"

"No. My bell rang in the room back of the galley, where Williams slept. The boat was small, and I left my man at home. Williams looked after me."

"Where did the bell from Mr. Vail's room ring?"

"In the maids' room. Mr. Vail's room was designed for Mrs. Turner. When we asked Mrs. Johns to go with us, Mrs. Turner gave Vail her room. It was a question of baths."

"Did you ring any bell during the night?"

"No."

"Knowing the relation of the bell above Mr. Vail's berth to the bed itself, do you think he could have reached it after his injury?"

(Slowly.) "After what the doctor has said, no; he would have had to raise himself and reach up."

The cross-examination was brief but to the point:

"What do you mean by 'ill'?"

"That night I had been somewhat ill; the next day I was in bad shape."

"Did you know the woman Karen Hansen before your wife employed her?"

"No."

"A previous witness has said that the Hansen woman, starting out of her room, saw you outside and retreated. Were you outside the door at any time during that night?"

"Only before midnight."

"You said you 'might have been' in the chart-room at two o'clock."

"I have said I was ill. I might have done almost anything."

"That is exactly what we are getting at, Mr. Turner. Going back to the 30th of July, when you were not ill, did you have any words with the captain?"

"We had a few. He was exceeding his authority."

"Do you recall what you said?"

"I was indignant."

"Think again, Mr. Turner. If you cannot recall, some one else will."

"I threatened to dismiss him and put the first mate in his place. I was angry, naturally."

"And what did the captain reply?"

"He made an absurd threat to put me in irons."

"What were your relations after that?"

"They were strained. We simply avoided each other."

"Just a few more questions, Mr. Turner, and I shall not detain you. Do you carry a key to the emergency case in the forward house, the case that contained the axe?"

Like many of the questions, this was disputed hotly. It was finally allowed, and Turner admitted the key. Similar cases were carried on all the Turner boats, and he had such a key on his ring.

"Did you ever see the white object that terrified the crew?"

"Never. Sailors are particularly liable to such hysteria."

"During your delirium, did you ever see such a figure?"

"I do not recall any details of that part of my illness."

"Were you in favor of bringing the bodies back to port?"

"I—yes, certainly."

"Do you recall going on deck the morning after the murders were discovered?"

"Vaguely."

"What were the men doing at that time?"

"I believe—really, I do not like to repeat so often that I was ill that day."

"Have you any recollection of what you said to the men at that time?"

"None."

"Let me refresh your memory from the ship's log."

(Reading.) "'Mr. Turner insisted that the bodies be buried at sea, and, on the crew opposing this, retired to his cabin, announcing that he considered the attitude of the men a mutiny.'"

"I recall being angry at the men—not much else. My position was rational enough, however. It was midsummer, and we had a long voyage before us."

"I wish to read something else to you. The witness Leslie testified to sleeping in the storeroom, at the request of Mrs. Johns". (reading), "'giving as her reason a fear of something going wrong, as there was trouble between Mr. Turner and the captain.'"

Whatever question Mr. Goldstein had been framing, he was not permitted to use this part of the record. The log was admissible only as a record on the spot, made by a competent person and witnessed by all concerned, of the actual occurrences on the Ella. My record of Mrs. Johns's remark was ruled out; Turner was not on trial.

Turner, pale and shaking, left the stand at two o'clock that day, and I was recalled. My earlier testimony had merely established the finding of the bodies. I was now to have a bad two hours. I was an important witness, probably the most important. I had heard the scream that had revealed the tragedy, and had been in the main cabin of the after house only a moment or so after the murderer. I had found the bodies, Vail still living, and had been with the accused mate when he saw the captain prostrate at the foot of the forward companion.

All of this, aided by skillful questions, I told as exactly as possible. I told of the mate's strange manner on finding the bodies; I related, to a breathless quiet, the placing of the bodies in the jolly-boat; and the reading of the burial service over them; I told of the little boat that followed us, like some avenging spirit, carrying by day a small American flag, union down, and at night a white light. I told of having to increase the length of the towing-line as the heat grew greater, and of a fear I had that the rope would separate, or that the mysterious hand that was the author of the misfortunes would cut the line.

I told of the long nights without sleep, while, with our few available men, we tried to work the Ella back to land; of guarding the after house; of a hundred false alarms that set our nerves quivering and our hearts leaping. And I made them feel, I think, the horror of a situation where each man suspected his neighbor, feared and loathed him, and yet stayed close by him because a known danger is better than an unknown horror.

The record of my examination is particularly faulty, McWhirter having allowed personal feeling to interfere with accuracy. Here and there in the margins of his notebook I find unflattering allusions to the prosecuting attorney; and after one question, an impeachment of my motives, to which Mac took violent exception, no answer at all is recorded, and in a furious scrawl is written: "The little whippersnapper! Leslie could smash him between his thumb and finger!"

I found another curious record—a leaf, torn out of the book, and evidently designed to be sent to me, but failing its destination, was as follows: "For Heaven's sake, don't look at the girl so much! The newspaper men are on."

But, to resume my examination. The first questions were not of particular interest. Then:

"Did the prisoner know you had moved to the after house?"

"I do not know. The forecastle hands knew."

"Tell what you know of the quarrel on July 31 between Captain Richardson and the prisoner."

"I saw it from a deck window." I described it in detail.

"Why did you move to the after house?"

"At the request of Mrs. Johns. She said she was nervous."

"What reason did she give?"

"That Mr. Turner was in a dangerous mood; he had quarreled with the captain and was quarreling with Mr. Vail."

"Did you know the arrangement of rooms in the after house? How the people slept?"

"In a general way."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I knew Mr. Vail's room and Miss Lee's."

"Did you know where the maids slept?"

"Yes."

"You have testified that you were locked in. Was the key kept in the lock?"

"Yes."

"Would whoever locked you in have had only to move the key from one side of the door to the other?"

"Yes."

"Was the key left in the lock when you were fastened in?"

"No."

"Now, Dr. Leslie, we want you to tell us what the prisoner did that night when you told him what had happened."

"I called to him to come below, for God's sake. He seemed dazed and at a loss to know what to do. I told him to get his revolver and call the captain. He went into the forward house and got his revolver, but he did not call the captain. We went below and stumbled over the captain's body."

"What was the mate's condition?"

"When we found the body?"

"His general condition."

"He was intoxicated. He collapsed on the steps when we found the captain. We both almost collapsed."

"What was his mental condition?"

"If you mean, was he frightened, we both were."

"Was he pale?"

"I did not notice then. He was pale and looked ill later, when the crew had gathered."

"About this key: was it ever found? The key to the storeroom?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"That same morning."

"Where? And by whom?"

"Miss Lee found it on the floor in Mr. Turner's room."

The prosecution was totally unprepared for this reply, and proceedings were delayed for a moment while the attorneys consulted. On the resumption of my examination, they made a desperate attempt to impeach my character as a witness, trying to show that I had sailed under false pretenses; that I was so feared in the after house that the women refused to allow me below, or to administer to Mr. Turner the remedies I prepared; and, finally, that I had surrendered myself to the crew as a suspect, of my own accord.

Against this the cross-examination threw all its weight. The prosecuting attorneys having dropped the question of the key, the shrewd young lawyer for the defense followed it up:—

"This key, Dr. Leslie, do you know where it is now?"

"Yes; I have it."

"Will you tell how it came into your possession?"

"Certainly. I picked it up on the deck, a night or so after the murders. Miss Lee had dropped it." I caught Elsa Lee's eye, and she gave me a warm glance of gratitude.

"Have you the key with you?"

"Yes." I produced it.

"Are you a football player, Doctor?"

"I was."

"I thought I recalled you. I have seen you play several times. In spite of our friend the attorney for the commonwealth, I do not believe we will need to call character witnesses for you. Did you see Miss Lee pick up the key to the storeroom in Mr. Turner's room?"

"Yes."

"Did it occur to you at the time that the key had any significance?"

"I wondered how it got there."

"You say you listened inside the locked door, and heard no sound, but felt a board rise up under your knee. A moment or two later, when you called the prisoner, he was intoxicated, and reeled. Do you mean to tell us that a drunken man could have made his way in the darkness, through a cabin filled with chairs, tables, and a piano, in absolute silence?"

The prosecuting attorney was on his feet in an instant, and the objection was sustained. I was next shown the keys, club, and file taken from Singleton's mattress. "You have identified these objects as having been found concealed in the prisoner's mattress. Do any of these keys fit the captain's cabin?"

"No."

"Who saw the prisoner during the days he was locked in his cabin?"

"I saw him occasionally. The cook saw him when he carried him his meals."

"Did you ever tell the prisoner where the axe was kept?"

"No."

"Did the members of the crew know?"

"I believe so. Yes."

"Was the fact that Burns carried the key to the captain's cabin a matter of general knowledge?"

"No. The crew knew that Burns and I carried the keys; they did not know which one each carried, unless—"

"Go on, please."

"If any one had seen Burns take Mrs. Johns forward and show her the axe, he would have known."

"Who were on deck at that time?"

"All the crew were on deck, the forecastle being closed. In the crow's-nest was McNamara; Jones was at the wheel."

"From the crow's-nest could the lookout have seen Burns and Mrs. Johns going forward?"

"No. The two houses were connected by an awning."

"What could the helmsman see?"

"Nothing forward of the after house."

The prosecution closed its case with me. The defense, having virtually conducted its case by cross-examination of the witnesses already called, contented itself with producing a few character witnesses, and "rested." Goldstein made an eloquent plea of "no case," and asked the judge so to instruct the jury.

This was refused, and the case went to the jury on the seventh day—a surprisingly short trial, considering the magnitude of the crimes.

The jury disagreed. But, while they wrangled, McWhirter and I were already on the right track. At the very hour that the jurymen were being discharged and steps taken for a retrial, we had the murderer locked in my room in a cheap lodging-house off Chestnut Street.



CHAPTER XXIII

FREE AGAIN

With the submission of the case to the jury, the witnesses were given their freedom. McWhirter had taken a room for me for a day or two to give me time to look about; and, his own leave of absence from his hospital being for ten days, we had some time together.

My situation was better than it had been in the summer. I had my strength again, although the long confinement had told on me. But my position was precarious enough. I had my pay from the Ella, and nothing else. And McWhirter, with a monthly stipend from his hospital of twenty-five dollars, was not much better off.

My first evening of freedom we spent at the theater. We bought the best seats in the house, and we dressed for the occasion—being in the position of having nothing to wear between shabby everyday wear and evening clothes.

"It is by way of celebration," Mac said, as he put a dab of shoe-blacking over a hole in his sock; "you having been restored to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That's the game, Leslie—the pursuit of happiness."

I was busy with a dress tie that I had washed and dried by pasting it on a mirror, an old trick of mine when funds ran low. I was trying to enter into Mac's festive humor, but I had not reacted yet from the horrors of the past few months.

"Happiness!" I said scornfully. "Do you call this happiness?"

He put up the blacking, and, coming to me, stood eyeing me in the mirror as I arranged my necktie.

"Don't be bitter," he said. "Happiness was my word. The Good Man was good to you when he made you. That ought to be a source of satisfaction. And as for the girl—"

"What girl?"

"If she could only see you now. Why in thunder didn't you take those clothes on board? I wanted you to. Couldn't a captain wear a dress suit on special occasions?"

"Mac," I said gravely, "if you will think a moment, you will remember that the only special occasions on the Ella, after I took charge, were funerals. Have you sat through seven days of horrors without realizing that?"

Mac had once gone to Europe on a liner, and, having exhausted his funds, returned on a cattle-boat.

"All the captains I ever knew," he said largely, "were a fussy lot—dressed to kill, and navigating the boat from the head of a dinner-table. But I suppose you know. I was only regretting that she hadn't seen you the way you're looking now. That's all. I suppose I may regret, without hurting your feelings!"

He dropped all mention of Elsa after that, for a long time. But I saw him looking at me, at intervals, during the evening, and sighing. He was still regretting!

We enjoyed the theater, after all, with the pent-up enthusiasm of long months of work and strain. We laughed at the puerile fun, encored the prettiest of the girls, and swaggered in the lobby between acts, with cigarettes. There we ran across the one man I knew in Philadelphia, and had supper after the play with three or four fellows who, on hearing my story, persisted in believing that I had sailed on the Ella as a lark or to follow a girl. My simple statement that I had done it out of necessity met with roars of laughter and finally I let it go at that.

It was after one when we got back to the lodging-house, being escorted there in a racing car by a riotous crowd that stood outside the door, as I fumbled for my key, and screeched in unison: "Leslie! Leslie! Leslie! Sic 'em!" before they drove away.

The light in the dingy lodging-house parlor was burning full, but the hall was dark. I stopped inside and lighted a cigarette.

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, Mac!" I said. "I've got the first two, and the other can be had—for the pursuit."

Mac did not reply: he was staring into the parlor. Elsa Lee was standing by a table, looking at me.

She was very nervous, and tried to explain her presence in a breath—with the result that she broke down utterly and had to stop. Mac, his jovial face rather startled, was making for the stairs; but I sternly brought him back and presented him. Whereon, being utterly confounded, he made the tactful remark that he would have to go and put out the milk-bottles: it was almost morning!

She had been waiting since ten o'clock, she said. A taxicab, with her maid, was at the door. They were going back to New York in the morning, and things were terribly wrong.

"Wrong? You need not mind Mr. McWhirter. He is as anxious as I am to be helpful."

"There are detectives watching Marshall; we saw one to-day at the hotel. If the jury disagrees—and the lawyers think they will—they will arrest him."

I thought it probable. There was nothing I could say. McWhirter made an effort to reassure her.

"It wouldn't be a hanging matter, anyhow," he said. "There's a lot against him, but hardly a jury in the country would hang a man for something he did, if he could prove he was delirious the next day." She paled at this dubious comfort, but it struck her sense of humor, too, for she threw me a fleeting smile.

"I was to ask you to do something," she said. "None of us can, for we are being watched. I was probably followed here. The Ella is still in the river, with only a watchman on board. We want you to go there to-night, if you can."

"To the Ella?"

She was feeling in her pocketbook, and now she held out to me an envelope addressed in a sprawling hand to Mr. Turner at his hotel.

"Am I to open it?"

"Please."

I unfolded a sheet of ruled note-paper of the most ordinary variety. It had been opened and laid flat, and on it, in black ink, was a crude drawing of the deck of the Ella, as one would look down on it from aloft. Here and there were small crosses in red ink, and, overlying it all from bow to stern, a red axe. Around the border, not written, but printed in childish letters, were the words: "NOT YET. HA, HA." In a corner was a drawing of a gallows, or what passes in the everyday mind for a gallows, and in the opposite corner an open book.

"You see," she said, "it was mailed downtown late this afternoon. The hotel got it at seven o'clock. Marshall wanted to get a detective, but I thought of you. I knew—you knew the boat, and then—you had said—"

"Anything in all the world that I can do to help you, I will do," I said, looking at her. And the thing that I could not keep out of my eyes made her drop hers.

"Sweet little document!" said McWhirter, looking over my shoulder. "Sent by some one with a nice disposition. What do the crosses mark?"

"The location of the bodies when found," I explained—"these three. This looks like the place where Burns lay unconscious. That one near the rail I don't know about, nor this by the mainmast."

"We thought they might mark places, clues, perhaps, that had been overlooked. The whole—the whole document is a taunt, isn't it? The scaffold, and the axe, and 'not yet'; a piece of bravado!"

"Right you are," said McWhirter admiringly. "A little escape of glee from somebody who's laughing too soon. One-thirty—it will soon be the proper hour for something to happen on the Ella, won't it? If that was sent by some member of the crew—and it looks like it; they are loose to-day—the quicker we follow it up, the better, if there's anything to follow."

"We thought if you would go early in the morning, before any of them make an excuse to go back on board—"

"We will go right away; but, please—don't build too much on this. It's a good possibility, that's all. Will the watchman let us on board?"

"We thought of that. Here is a note to him from Marshall, and—will you do us one more kindness?"

"I will."

"Then—if you should find anything, bring it to us; to the police; later, if you must, but to us first."

"When?"

"In the morning. We will not leave until we hear from you."

She held out her hand, first to McWhirter, then to me. I kept it a little longer than I should have, perhaps, and she did not take it away.

"It is such a comfort," she said, "to have you with us and not against us! For Marshall didn't do it, Leslie—I mean—it is hard for me to think of you as Dr. Leslie! He didn't do it. At first, we thought he might have, and he was delirious and could not reassure us. He swears he did not. I think, just at first, he was afraid he had done it; but he did not. I believe that, and you must."

I believed her—I believed anything she said. I think that if she had chosen to say that I had wielded the murderer's axe on the Ella, I should have gone to the gallows rather than gainsay her. From that night, I was the devil's advocate, if you like. I was determined to save Marshall Turner.

She wished us to take her taxicab, dropping her at her hotel; and, reckless now of everything but being with her, I would have done so. But McWhirter's discreet cough reminded me of the street-car level of our finances, and I made the excuse of putting on more suitable clothing.

I stood in the street, bareheaded, watching her taxicab as it rattled down the street. McWhirter touched me on the arm.

"Wake up!" he said. "We have work to do, my friend."

We went upstairs together, cautiously, not to rouse the house. At the top, Mac turned and patted me on the elbow, my shoulder being a foot or so above him.

"Good boy!" he said. "And if that shirtfront and tie didn't knock into eternal oblivion the deck-washing on the Ella, I'll eat them!"



CHAPTER XXIV

THE THING

I deserve no credit for the solution of the Ella's mystery. I have a certain quality of force, perhaps, and I am not lacking in physical courage; but I have no finesse of intellect. McWhirter, a foot shorter than I, round of face, jovial and stocky, has as much subtlety in his little finger as I have in my six feet and a fraction of body.

All the way to the river, therefore, he was poring over the drawing. He named the paper at once.

"Ought to know it," he said, in reply to my surprise. "Sold enough paper at the drugstore to qualify as a stationery engineer." He writhed as was his habit over his jokes, and then fell to work at the drawing again. "A book," he said, "and an axe, and a gibbet or gallows. B-a-g—that makes 'bag.' Doesn't go far, does it? Humorous duck, isn't he? Any one who can write 'ha! ha!' under a gallows has real humor. G-a-b, b-a-g!"

The Ella still lay in the Delaware, half a mile or so from her original moorings. She carried the usual riding-lights—a white one in the bow, another at the stern, and the two vertical red lights which showed her not under command. In reply to repeated signals, we were unable to rouse the watchman. I had brought an electric flash with me, and by its aid we found a rope ladder over the side, with a small boat at its foot.

Although the boat indicated the presence of the watchman on board, we made our way to the deck without challenge. Here McWhirter suggested that the situation might be disagreeable, were the man to waken and get at us with a gun.

We stood by the top of the ladder, therefore, and made another effort to rouse him. "Hey, watchman!" I called. And McWhirter, in a deep bass, sang lustily: "Watchman, what of the night?" Neither of us made, any perceptible impression on the silence and gloom of the Ella.

McWhirter grew less gay. The deserted decks of the ship, her tragic history, her isolation, the darkness, which my small flash seemed only to intensify, all had their effect on him.

"It's got my goat," he admitted. "It smells like a tomb."

"Don't be an ass."

"Turn the light over the side, and see if we fastened that boat. We don't want to be left here indefinitely."

"That's folly, Mac," I said, but I obeyed him. "The watchman's boat is there, so we—"

But he caught me suddenly by the arm and shook me.

"My God!" he said. "What is that over there?"

It was a moment before my eyes, after the flashlight, could discern anything in the darkness. Mac was pointing forward. When I could see, Mac was ready to laugh at himself.

"I told you the place had my goat!" he said sheepishly. "I thought I saw something duck around the corner of that building; but I think it was a ray from a searchlight on one of those boats."

"The watchman, probably," I said quietly. But my heart beat a little faster. "The watchman taking a look at us and gone for his gun."

I thought rapidly. If Mac had seen anything, I did not believe it was the watchman. But there should be a watchman on board—in the forward house, probably. I gave Mac my revolver and put the light in my pocket. I might want both hands that night. I saw better without the flash, and, guided partly by the bow light, partly by my knowledge of the yacht, I led the way across the deck. The forward house was closed and locked, and no knocking produced any indication of life. The after house we found not only locked, but barred across with strips of wood nailed into place. The forecastle was likewise closed. It was a dead ship.

No figure reappearing to alarm him, Mac took the drawing out of his pocket and focused the flashlight on it.

"This cross by the mainmast," he said "that would be where?"

"Right behind you, there."

He walked to the mast, and examined carefully around its base. There was nothing there, and even now I do not know to what that cross alluded, unless poor Schwartz—!

"Then this other one—forward, you call it, don't you? Suppose we locate that."

All expectation of the watchman having now died, we went forward on the port side to the approximate location of the cross. This being in the neighborhood where Mac had thought he saw something move, we approached with extreme caution. But nothing more ominous was discovered than the port lifeboat, nothing more ghostly heard than the occasional creak with which it rocked in its davits.

The lifeboat seemed to be indicated by the cross. It swung almost shoulder-high on McWhirter. We looked under and around it, with a growing feeling that we had misread the significance of the crosses, or that the sinister record extended to a time before the "she devil" of the Turner line was dressed in white and turned into a lady.

I was feeling underneath the boat, with a sense of absurdity that McWhirter put into words. "I only hope," he said, "that the watchman does not wake up now and see us. He'd be justified in filling us with lead, or putting us in straitjackets."

But I had discovered something.

"Mac," I said, "some one has been at this boat within the last few minutes."

"Why?"

"Take your revolver and watch the deck. One of the barecas—"

"What's that?"

"One of the water-barrels has been upset, and the plug is out. It is leaking into the boat. It is leaking fast, and there's only a gallon or so in the bottom! Give me the light."

The contents of the boat revealed the truth of what I had said. The boat was in confusion. Its cover had been thrown back, and tins of biscuit, bailers, boathooks and extra rowlocks were jumbled together in confusion. The barecas lay on its side, and its plug had been either knocked or drawn out.

McWhirter was for turning to inspect the boat; but I ordered him sternly to watch the deck. He was inclined to laugh at my caution, which he claimed was a quality in me he had not suspected. He lounged against the rail near me, and, in spite of his chaff, kept a keen enough lookout.

The barecas of water were lashed amidships. In the bow and stern were small air-tight compartments, and in the stern was also a small locker from which the biscuit tins had been taken. I was about to abandon my search, when I saw something gleaming in the locker, and reached in and drew it out. It appeared to be an ordinary white sheet, but its presence there was curious. I turned the light on it. It was covered with dark-brown stains.

Even now the memory of that sheet turns me ill. I shook it out, and Mac, at my exclamation, came to me. It was not a sheet at all, that is, not a whole one. It was a circular piece of white cloth, on which, in black, were curious marks—a six-pointed star predominating. There were others—a crescent, a crude attempt to draw what might be either a dog or a lamb, and a cross. From edge to edge it was smeared with blood.

Of what followed just after, both McWhirter and I are vague. There seemed to be, simultaneously, a yell of fury from the rigging overhead, and the crash of a falling body on the deck near us. Then we were closing with a kicking, biting, screaming thing, that bore me to the ground, extinguishing the little electric flash, and that, rising suddenly from under me, had McWhirter in the air, and almost overboard before I caught him. So dazed were we by the onslaught that the thing—whatever it was—could have escaped, and left us none the wiser. But, although it eluded us in the darkness, it did not leave. It was there, whimpering to itself, searching for something—the sheet. As I steadied Mac, it passed me. I caught at it. Immediately the struggle began all over again. But this time we had the advantage, and kept it. After a battle that seemed to last all night, and that was actually fought all over that part of the deck, we held the creature subdued, and Mac, getting a hand free, struck a match.

It was Charlie Jones.

That, after all, is the story. Jones was a madman, a homicidal maniac of the worst type. Always a madman, the homicidal element of his disease was recurrent and of a curious nature.

He thought himself a priest of heaven, appointed to make ghastly sacrifices at certain signals from on high. The signals I am not sure of; he turned taciturn after his capture and would not talk. I am inclined to think that a shooting star, perhaps in a particular quarter of the heavens, was his signal. This is distinctly possible, and is made probable by the stars which he had painted with tar on his sacrificial robe.

The story of the early morning of August 12 will never be fully known; but much of it, in view of our knowledge, we were able to reconstruct. Thus—Jones ate his supper that night, a mild and well-disposed individual. During the afternoon before, he had read prayers for the soul of Schwartz, in whose departure he may or may not have had a part I am inclined to think not, Jones construing his mission as being one to remove the wicked and the oppressor, and Schwartz hardly coming under either classification.

He was at the wheel from midnight until four in the morning on the night of the murders. At certain hours we believe that he went forward to the forecastle-head, and performed, clad in his priestly robe, such devotions as his disordered mind dictated. It is my idea that he looked, at these times, for a heavenly signal, either a meteor or some strange appearance of the heavens. It was known that he was a poor sleeper, and spent much time at night wandering around.

On the night of the crimes it is probable that he performed his devotions early, and then got the signal. This is evidenced by Singleton's finding the axe against the captain's door before midnight. He had evidently been disturbed. We believe that he intended to kill the captain and Mr. Turner, but made a mistake in the rooms. He clearly intended to kill the Danish girl. Several passages in his Bible, marked with a red cross, showed his inflamed hatred of loose women; and he believed Karen Hansen to be of that type.

He locked me in, slipping down from the wheel to do so, and pocketing the key. The night was fairly quiet. He could lash the wheel safely, and he had in his favor the fact that Oleson, the lookout, was a slow-thinking Swede who notoriously slept on his watch. He found the axe, not where he had left it, but back in the case. But the case was only closed, not locked—Singleton's error.

Armed with the axe, Jones slipped back to the wheel and waited. He had plenty of time. He had taken his robe from its hiding-place in the boat, and had it concealed near him with the axe. He was ready, but he was waiting for another signal. He got it at half-past two. He admitted the signal and the time, but concealed its nature—I think it was a shooting star. He killed Vail first, believing it to be Turner, and making with his axe, the four signs of the cross. Then he went to the Hansen girl's door. He did not know about the bell, and probably rang it by accident as he leaned over to listen if Vail still breathed.

The captain, in the mean time, had been watching Singleton. He had forbidden his entering the after house; if he caught him disobeying he meant to, put him in irons. He was without shoes or coat, and he sat waiting on the after companion steps for developments.

It was the captain, probably, whom Karen Hansen mistook for Turner. Later he went back to the forward companionway, either on his way back to his cabin, or still with an eye to Singleton's movements.

To the captain there must have appeared this grisly figure in flowing white, smeared with blood and armed with an axe. The sheet was worn over Jones's head—a long, narrow slit serving him to see through, and two other slits freeing his arms. The captain was a brave man, but the apparition, gleaming in the almost complete darkness, had been on him before he could do more than throw up his hands.

Jones had not finished. He went back to the chart-room and possibly even went on deck and took a look at the wheel. Then he went down again and killed the Hansen woman.

He was exceedingly cunning. He flung the axe into the room, and was up and at the wheel again, all within a few seconds. To tear off and fold up the sheet, to hide it under near-by cordage, to strike the ship's bell and light his pipe—all this was a matter of two or three minutes. I had only time to look at Vail. When I got up to the wheel, Jones was smoking quietly.

I believe he tried to get Singleton later, and failed. But he continued his devotions on the forward deck, visible when clad in his robe, invisible when he took it off. It was Jones, of course, who attacked Burns and secured the key to the captain's cabin; Jones who threw the axe overboard after hearing the crew tell that on its handle were finger-prints to identify the murderer; Jones who, while on guard in the after house below, had pushed the key to the storeroom under Turner's door; Jones who hung the marlinespike over the side, waiting perhaps for another chance at Singleton; Jones, in his devotional attire, who had frightened the crew into hysteria, and who, discovered by Mrs. Johns in the captain's cabin, had rushed by her, and out, with the axe. It is noticeable that he made no attempt to attack her. He killed only in obedience to his signal, and he had had no signal.

Perhaps the most curious thing, after the murderer was known, was the story of the people in the after house. It was months before I got that in full. The belief among the women was that Turner, maddened by drink and unreasoning jealousy, had killed Vail, and then, running amuck or discovered by the other victims, had killed them. This was borne out by Turner's condition. His hands and parts of his clothing were blood-stained.

Their condition was pitiable. Unable to speak for himself, he lay raving in his room, talking to Vail and complaining of a white figure that bothered him. The key that Elsa Lee picked up was another clue, and in their attempt to get rid of it I had foiled them. Mrs. Johns, an old friend and, as I have said, an ardent partisan, undertook to get rid of the axe, with the result that we know. Even Turner's recovery brought little courage. He could only recall that he had gone into Vail's room and tried to wake him, without result; that he did not know of the blood until the next day, or that Vail was dead; and that he had a vague recollection of something white and ghostly that night—he was not sure where he had seen it.

The failure of their attempt to get rid of the storeroom key was matched by their failure to smuggle Turner's linen off the ship. Singleton suspected Turner, and, with the skillful and not over scrupulous aid of his lawyer, had succeeded in finding in Mrs. Sloane's trunk the incriminating pieces.

As to the meaning of the keys, file, and club in Singleton's mattress, I believe the explanation is simple enough. He saw against him a strong case. He had little money and no influence, while Turner had both. I have every reason to believe that he hoped to make his escape before the ship anchored, and was frustrated by my discovery of the keys and by an extra bolt I put on his door and window.

The murders on the schooner-yacht Ella were solved.

McWhirter went back to his hospital, the day after our struggle, wearing a strip of plaster over the bridge of his nose and a new air of importance. The Turners went to New York soon after, and I was alone. I tried to put Elsa Lee out of my thoughts, as she had gone out of my life, and, receiving the hoped-for hospital appointment at that time, I tried to make up by hard work for a happiness that I had not lost because it had never been mine.

A curious thing has happened to me. I had thought this record finished, but perhaps—

Turner's health is bad. He and his wife and Miss Lee are going to Europe. He has asked me to go with him in my professional capacity!

It is more than a year since I have seen her.

The year has brought some changes. Singleton is again a member of the Turner forces, having signed a contract and a temperance pledge at the same sitting. Jones is in a hospital for the insane, where in the daytime he is a cheery old tar with twinkling eyes and a huge mustache, and where now and then, on Christmas and holidays, I send him a supply of tobacco. At night he sleeps in a room with opaque glass windows through which no heavenly signals can penetrate. He will not talk of his crimes,—not that he so regards them,—but now and then in the night he wraps the drapery of his couch about him and performs strange orisons in the little room that is his. And at such times an attendant watches outside his door.



CHAPTER XXV

THE SEA AGAIN

Once more the swish of spray against the side of a ship, the tang of salt, the lift and fall of the rail against the sea-line on the horizon. And once more a girl, in white from neck to heel, facing into the wind as if she loved it, her crisp skirts flying, her hair blown back from her forehead in damp curls.

And I am not washing down the deck. With all the poise of white flannels and a good cigar, I am lounging in a deck-chair, watching her. Then—

"Come here!" I say.

"I am busy."

"You are not busy. You are disgracefully idle."

"Why do you want me?"

She comes closer, and looks down at me. She likes me to sit, so she may look superior and scornful, this being impossible when one looks up. When she has approached—

"Just to show that I can order you about."

"I shall go back!"—with raised chin. How I remember that raised chin, and how (whisper it) I used to fear it!

"You cannot. I am holding the edge of your skirt."

"Ralph! And all the other passengers looking!"

"Then sit down—and, before you do, tuck that rug under my feet, will you?"

"Certainly not."

"Under my feet!"

She does it, under protest, whereon I release her skirts. She is sulky, quite distinctly sulky. I slide my hand under the rug into her lap. She ignores it.

"Now," I say calmly, "we are even. And you might as well hold my hand. Every one thinks you are."

She brings her hands hastily from under her rug and puts them over her head. "I don't know what has got into you," she says coldly. "And why are we even?"

"For the day you told me the deck was not clean."

"It wasn't clean."

"I think I am going to kiss you."

"Ralph!"

"It is coming on. About the time that the bishop gets here, I shall lean over and—"

She eyes me, and sees determination in my face. She changes color.

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I!"

She rises hastily, and stands looking down at me. I am quite sure at that moment that she detests me, and I rather like it. There are always times when we detest the people we love.

"If you are going to be arbitrary just because you can—"

"Yes?"

"Marsh and the rest are in the smoking room. Their sitting-room is empty."

Quite calmly, as if we are going below for a clean handkerchief or a veil or a cigarette, we stroll down the great staircase of the liner to the Turners' sitting-room, and close the door.

And—I kiss her.

THE END