A moment later the pressure was released. With
a growing horror of I know not what, I set to work
at the second screw, trying to be noiseless, but with
hands shaking with excitement. The screw fell
out into my palm. In my haste I dropped my knife,
and had to grope for it on the floor. It was
then that a woman screamed—a low, sobbing
cry, broken off almost before it began. I had
got my knife by that time, and in desperation I threw
myself against the door. It gave way, and I fell
full length on the main cabin floor. I was still
in darkness. The silence in the cabin was absolute.
I could hear the steersman beyond the chart-room
scratching a match.
As I got up, six bells struck. It was three
o’clock.
Vail’s room was next to the pantry, and forward.
I felt my way to it, and rapped.
“Vail,” I called. “Vail!”
His door was open an inch or so. I went in and
felt my way to his bunk. I could hear him breathing,
a stertorous respiration like that of sleep, and yet
unlike. The moment I touched him, the sound
ceased, and did not commence again. I struck
a match and bent over him.
He had been almost cut to pieces with an axe.
IN THE AFTER HOUSE
The match burnt out, and I dropped it. I remember
mechanically extinguishing the glowing end with my
heel, and then straightening to such a sense of horror
as I have never felt before or since. I groped
for the door; I wanted air, space, the freedom from
lurking death of the open deck.
I had been sleeping with my revolver beside me on
the pantry floor. Somehow or other I got back
there and found it. I made an attempt to find
the switch for the cabin lights, and, failing, revolver
in hand, I ran into the chart-room and up the after
companionway. Charlie Jones was at the wheel,
and by the light of a lantern I saw that he was bending
to the right, peering in at the chartroom window.
He turned when he heard me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I heard a yell a minute ago. Turner on
the rampage?” He saw my revolver then, and,
letting go the wheel, threw up both his hands.
“Turn that gun away, you fool!”
I could hardly speak. I lowered the revolver
and gasped: “Call the captain! Vail’s
been murdered!
“Good God!” he said. “Who
did it?” He had taken the wheel again, and
was bringing the ship back to her course. I was
turning sick and dizzy, and I clutched at the railing
of the companionway.
“I don’t know. Where’s the
captain?”
“The mate’s around.” He raised
his voice. “Mr. Singleton!” he called.
There was no time to lose, I felt. My nausea
had left me. I ran forward to where I could
dimly see Singleton looking in my direction.
“Singleton! Quick!” I called.
“Bring your revolver.”
He stopped and peered in my direction.
