“Well?”—sullenly.
“I’m going around after you, and if I
find so much as a pint, I’ll put you in that
room you have just left, and lock you in.”
He turned even grayer, and went into the storeroom.
A day later, and the crew would probably have resented
what they saw that morning. But that day they
only looked up apathetically from their gruesome work
of sewing into bags of canvas the sheeted bodies on
the deck, while a gray-faced Negro in a white coat
flung over the rail cases of fine wines, baskets and
boxes full of bottles, dozen after dozen of brandies
and liquors, all sinking beyond salvage in the blue
Atlantic.
PRISONERS
My first thought had been for the women, and,
unluckily, to save them a shock I had all evidences
of the crime cleared away as quickly as possible.
Stains that might have been of invaluable service
in determining the murderer were washed away almost
before they were dry. I realized this now, too
late. But the axe remained, and I felt that
its handle probably contained a record for more skillful
eyes than mine to read, prints that under the microscope
would reveal the murderer’s identity as clearly
as a photograph.
I sent for Burns, who reported that he had locked
the axe in the captain’s cabin. He gave
me the key, which I fastened to a string and hung
around my neck under my shirt. He also reported
that, as I had suggested, the crew had gone, two at
a time, into the forecastle, and had brought up what
they needed to stay on deck. The forecastle had
been closed and locked in the presence of the crew,
and the key given to Burns, who fastened it to his
watch-chain. The two hatchways leading to the
hold had been fastened down also, and Oleson, who
was ship’s carpenter, had nailed them fast.
The crew had been instructed to stay aft of the wheel,
except when on watch. Thus the helmsman need
not be alone. As I have said, the door at the
top of the companion steps, near the wheel, was closed
and locked, and entrance to the after house was to
be gained only by the forward companion. It
was the intention of Burns and myself to keep watch
here, amidships.
Burns had probably suffered more than any of us.
Whatever his relation to the Hansen woman had been,
he had been with her only three hours before her death,
and she was wearing a ring of his, a silver rope tied
in a sailor’s knot, when she died. And
Burns had been fond of Captain Richardson, in a crew
where respect rather than affection toward the chief
officer was the rule.
When Burns gave me the key to the captain’s
room Charlie Jones had reached the other end of the
long cabin, and was staring through into the chartroom.
It was a time to trust no one, and I assured myself
that Jones was not looking before I thrust it into
my shirt.
“They’re—all ready, Leslie,”
Burns said, his face working. “What are
we going to do with them?”
