CHAPTER X
"THAT'S MUTINY"
Exactly what occurred during Elsa Lee's visit to her brother-in-law'scabin I have never learned. He was sober, I know, and somewhat dazed,with no recollection whatever of the previous night, except a hazy ideathat he had quarreled with Richardson.
Jones and I waited outside. He suggested that we have prayers over thebodies when we placed them in the boat, and I agreed to read the burialservice from the Episcopal Prayer Book. The voices from Turner's cabincame steadily, Miss Lee's low tones, Turner's heavy bass only now andthen. Once I heard her give a startled exclamation, and both Jones andI leaped to the door. But the next moment she was talking againquietly.
Ten minutes--fifteen--passed. I grew restless and took to wanderingabout the cabin. Mrs. Johns came to the door opposite, and asked tohave tea sent down to the stewardess. I called the request up thecompanionway, unwilling to leave the cabin for a moment. When I cameback, Jones was standing at the door of Vail's cabin, looking in. Hisface was pale.
"Look there!" he said hoarsely. "Look at the bell. He must have triedto push the button!"
I stared in. Williams had put the cabin to rights, as nearly as hecould. The soaked mattress was gone, and a clean linen sheet wasspread over the bunk. Poor Vail's clothing, as he had taken it off thenight before, hung on a mahogany stand beside the bed, and above,almost concealed by his coat, was the bell. Jones's eyes were fixed onthe darkish smear, over and around the bell, on the white paint.
I measured the height of the bell from the bed. It was well above, andto one side--a smear rather than a print, too indeterminate to be ofany value, sinister, cruel.
"He didn't do that, Charlie," I said. "He couldn't have got up to itafter--That is the murderer's mark. He leaned there, one hand againstthe wall, to look down at his work. And, without knowing it, he pressedthe button that roused the two women."
He had not heard the story of Henrietta Sloane, and, as we waited, Itold him. Some of the tension was relaxing. He tried, in hisargumentative German way, to drag me into a discussion as to theforeordination of a death that resulted from an accidental ringing of abell. But my ears were alert for the voices near by, and soon Miss Leeopened the door.
Turner was sitting on his bunk. He had made an attempt to shave, andhad cut his chin severely. He was in a dressing-gown, and was holdinga handkerchief to his face; he peered at me over it with red-rimmedeyes.
"This--this is horrible, Leslie," he said. "I can hardly believe it."
"It is true, Mr. Turner."
He took the handkerchief away and looked to see if the bleeding hadstopped. I believe he intended to impress us both with his coolness,but it was an unfortunate attempt. His lips, relieved of the pressure,were twitching; his nerveless fingers could hardly refold thehandkerchief.
"Wh-why was I not--called at once?" he demanded.
"I notified you. You were--you must have gone to sleep again."
"I don't believe you called me. You're--lying, aren't you?" He gotup, steadying himself by the wall, and swaying dizzily to the motion ofthe ship. "You shut me off down here, and then run things your owndamned way." He turned on Miss Lee. "Where's Helen?"
"In her room, Marsh. She has one of her headaches. Please don'tdisturb her."
"Where's Williams?" He turned to me.
"I can get him for you."
"Tell him to bring me a highball. My mouth's sticky." He ran histongue over his dry lips. "And--take a message from me toRichardson--" He stopped, startled. Indeed, Miss Lee and I had bothstarted. "To who's running the boat, anyhow? Singleton?"
"Mr. Singleton is a prisoner in the forward house," I said gravely.
The effect of this was astonishing. He stared at us both, and, findingcorroboration in Miss Lee's face, his own took on an instant expressionof relief. He dropped to the side of the bed, and his color cameslowly back. He even smiled--a crafty grin that was inexpressiblyhorrible.
"Singleton!" he said. "Why do they--how do they know it was he?"
"He had quarreled with the captain last night, and he was on duty atthe time of the when the thing happened. The man at the wheel claimsto have seen him in the chartroom just before, and there was otherevidence, I believe. The lookout saw him forward, withsomething--possibly the axe. Not decisive, of course, but enough tojustify putting him in irons. Somebody did it, and the murderer is onboard, Mr. Turner."
His grin had faded, but the crafty look in his pale-blue eyes remained.
"The chart-room was dark. How could the steersman--" He checkedhimself abruptly, and looked at us both quickly. "Where are--they?" heasked in a different tone.
"On deck."
"We can't keep them in this weather."
"We must," I said. "We will have to get to the nearest port as quicklyas we can, and surrender ourselves and the bodies. This thing willhave to be sifted to the bottom, Mr. Turner. The innocent must notsuffer for the guilty, and every one on the ship is under suspicion."
He fell into a passion at that, insisting that the bodies be buried atonce, asserting his ownership of the vessel as his authority, demandingto know what I, a forecastle hand, had to say about it, flinging up anddown the small room, showering me with invective and threats, andshoving Miss Lee aside when she laid a calming hand on his arm. Thecut on his chin was bleeding again, adding to his wild and sinisterexpression. He ended by demanding Williams.
I opened the door and called to Charlie Jones to send the butler, andstood by, waiting for the fresh explosion that was coming. Williamsshakily confessed that there was no whiskey on board.
"Where is it?" Turner thundered.
Williams looked at me. He was in a state of inarticulate fright.
"I ordered it overboard," I said.
Turner whirled on me, incredulity and rage in his face.
"You!"
I put the best face I could on the matter, and eyed him steadily."There has been too much drinking on this ship," I said. "If you doubtit, go up and look at the three bodies on the deck."
"What have you to do about it?" His eyes were narrowed; there wasmenace in every line of his face.
"With Schwartz gone, Captain Richardson dead, and Singleton in irons,the crew had no officers. They asked me to take charge."
"So! And you used your authority to meddle with what does not concernyou The ship has an officer while I am on it. And there will be nomutiny."
He flung into the main cabin, and made for the forward companionway. Istepped back to allow Miss Lee to precede me. She was standing, herback to the dressing-stand, facing the door. She looked at me and madea helpless gesture with her hands, as if the situation were beyond her.Then I saw her look down. She took a quick step or two toward thedoor, and, stooping picked up some small object from almost under myfoot. The incident would have passed without notice, had she not, inattempting to wrap it in her handkerchief, dropped it. I saw then thatit was a key.
"Let me get it for you," I said. To my amazement, she put her footover it.
"Please see what Mr. Turner is doing," she said. "It is the key to myjewel-case."
"Will you let me see it?"
"No."
"It is not the key to a jewel-case."
"It does not concern you what it is."
"It is the key to the storeroom door."
"You are stronger than I am. You look the brute. You can knock meaway and get it."
I knew then, of course, that it was the storeroom key. But I could nottake it by force. And so defiantly she faced me, so valiant was everyline of her slight figure, that I was ashamed of my impulse to push heraside and take it. I loved her with every inch of my overgrown body,and I did the thing she knew I would do. I bowed and left the cabin.But I had no intention of losing the key. I could not take it byforce, but she knew as well as I did what finding it there in Turner'sroom meant. Turner had locked me in. But I must be able to proveit--my wits against hers, and the advantage
mine. I had the womenunder guard.
I went up on deck.
A curious spectacle revealed itself. Turner, purple with anger, washaranguing the men, who stood amidships, huddled together, but grim anddetermined withal. Burns, a little apart from the rest, was standing,sullen, his arms folded. As Turner ceased, he took a step forward.
"You are right, Mr. Turner," he said. "It's your ship, and it's up toyou to say where she goes and how she goes, sir. But some one willhang for this, Mr. Turner,--some one that's on this deck now; and thebodies are going back with us--likewise the axe. There ain't going tobe a mistake--the right man is going to swing."
"That's mutiny!"
"Yes, sir," Burns acknowledged, his face paling a little. "I guess youcould call it that."
Turner swung on his heel and went below, where Jones, relieved of guardduty by Burns, reported him locked in his room, refusing admission tohis wife and Miss Lee, both of whom had knocked on the door.
The trouble with Turner added to the general misery of the situation.Burns got our position at noon with more or less exactness, and thegeneral working of the Ella went on well enough. But the situation wasindescribable. Men started if a penknife dropped, and swore if a sailflapped. The call of the boatswain's pipe rasped their ears, and thepreparation for stowing the bodies in the jolly-boat left them unnervedand sick. Some sort of a meal was cooked, but no one could eat;Williams brought up, untasted, the luncheon he had carried down to theafter house.
At two o'clock all hands gathered amidships, and the bodies werecarried forward to where the boat, lowered in its davits and braced,lay on the deck. It had been lined with canvas and tarpaulin, and acover of similar material lay ready to be nailed in place. All the menwere bareheaded. Many were in tears. Miss Lee came forward with us,and it was from her prayer-book that I, too moved forself-consciousness, read the burial-service.
"I am the resurrection and the life," I read huskily.
The figures at my feet, in their canvas shrouds, rolled gently with therocking of the ship; the sun beat down on the decks, on the bare headsof the men, on the gilt edges of the prayer-book, gleaming in thelight, on the last of the land-birds, drooping in the heat on the maincross-trees.
"... For man walketh in a vain shadow," I read, "and disquietethhimself in vain....
"O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength: before I gohence, and be no more seen."
The After House Page 10
