The After House

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE AXE IS GONE

  My first thought was of the after house. Jones, who had been fond ofBurns, was working over him, muttering to himself. I felt his heart,which was beating slowly but regularly, and, convinced that he was notdying, ran down into the after house. The cabin was empty: evidentlythe guard around the pearl handled revolver had been given up on thefalse promise of peace. All the lights were going, however, and theheat was suffocating.

  I ran to Miss Lee's door, and tried it. It was locked, but almostinstantly she spoke from inside:

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing much. Can you come out?"

  She came a moment later, and I asked her to call into each cabin to seeif every one was safe. The result was reassuring--no one had beendisturbed; and I was put to it to account to Miss Lee for my anxietywithout telling her what had happened. I made some sort of excuse,which I have forgotten, except that she evidently did not believe it.

  On deck, the men were gathered around Burns. There were ominous facesamong them, and mutterings of hatred and revenge; for Burns had beenpopular--the best-liked man among them all. Jones, wrought to thehighest pitch, had even shed a few shamefaced tears, and wasobliterating the humiliating memory by an extra brusqueness of manner.

  We carried the injured man aft, and with such implements as I had Icleaned and dressed the wound. It needed sewing, and it seemed best todo it before he regained consciousness. Jones and Adams went below tothe forecastle, therefore, and brought up my amputating set, whichcontained, besides its knives, some curved needles and surgical silk,still in good condition.

  I opened the case, and before the knives, the long surgeon's kniveswhich were in use before the scalpel superseded them, they fell back,muttering and amazed.

  I did not know that Elsa Lee also was watching until, having requestedJones, who had been a sailmaker, to thread the needles, his tremblinghands refused their duty. I looked up, searching the group for acompetent assistant, and saw the girl. She had dressed, and the lightfrom the lantern beside me on the deck threw into relief her whitefigure among the dark ones. She came forward as my eyes fell on her.

  "Let me try," she said; and, kneeling by the lantern, in a moment sheheld out the threaded needle. Her hand was quite steady. She made anable assistant, wiping clean the oozing edges of the wound so that Icould see to clip the bleeding vessels, and working deftly with thesilk and needles to keep me supplied. My old case yielded also a rollor so of bandage. By the time Burns was attempting an incoordinatemovement or two, the operation was over and the instruments put out ofsight.

  His condition was good. The men carried him to the tent, where Jonessat beside him, and the other men stood outside, uneasy and watchful,looking in.

  The operating-case, with its knives, came in for its share of scrutiny,and I felt that an explanation was due the men. To tell the truth, Ihad forgotten all about the case. Perhaps I swaggered just a bit as Iwent over to wash my hands. It was my first opportunity, and I wasyoung, and the Girl was there.

  "I see you looking at my case, boys," I said. "Perhaps I'm a littlelate explaining, but I guess after what you've seen you'll understand.The case belonged to my grandfather, who was a surgeon. He was in thewar. That case was at Gettysburg."

  "And because of your grandfather you brought it on shipboard!" Clarkesaid nastily.

  "No. I'm a cub doctor myself. I'd been sick, and I needed the sea anda rest."

  They were not so impressed as I had expected--or perhaps they had knownall along. Sailors are a secretive lot.

  "I'm thinking we'll all be getting a rest soon," a voice said. "Whatare you going to do with them knives?"

  I had an inspiration. "I'm going to leave that to you men," I said."You may throw them overboard, if you wish--but, if you do, take outthe needles and the silk; we may need them."

  There followed a savage but restrained argument among the men. Jones,from the tent, called out irritably:--

  "Don't be fools, you fellows. This happened while Leslie was asleep.I'll swear he never moved after he lay down."

  The crew reached a decision shortly after that, and came to me in abody.

  "We think," Oleson said, "that we'll lock them in the captain's cabin,with the axe."

  "Very well," I said. "Burns has the key around his neck."

  Clarke, I think it was, went into the tent, and came out again directly.

  "There's no key around his neck," he said gruffly.

  "It may have slipped around under his back."

  "It isn't there at all."

  I ran into the tent, where Jones, having exhausted the resources of theinjured man's clothing, was searching among the blankets on which helay. There was no key. I went out to the men again, bewildered. Thedawn had come, a pink and rosy dawn that promised another stifling day.It revealed the disarray of the deck--the basins, the old mahoganyamputating-case with its lock plate of bone, the stained and reddenedtowels; and it showed the brooding and overcast faces of the men.

  "Isn't it there?" I asked. "Our agreement was for me to carry the keyto Singleton's cabin and Burns the captain's."

  Miss Lee, by the rail, came forward slowly, and looked up at me.

  "Isn't it possible," she said, "that, knowing where the key was, someone wished to get it, and so--" She indicated the tent and Burns.

  I knew then. How dull I had been, and stupid! The men caught hermeaning, too, and we tramped heavily forward, the girl and I leading.

  The door into the captain's room was open, and the axe was gone fromthe bunk. The key, with the cord that Burns had worn around his neck,was in the door, the string torn and pulled as if it had been jerkedaway from the unconscious man. Later on we verified this by finding,on the back of Burns's neck an abraded line two inches or so in length.

  It was a strong cord--the kind a sailor pins his faith to, and usesindiscriminately to hold his trousers or his knife.

  I ordered a rigid search of the deck, but the axe was gone. Nor was itever found. It had taken its bloody story many fathoms deep into theold Atlantic, and hidden it, where many crimes have been hidden, in theooze and slime of the sea-bottom.

  That day was memorable for more than the attack on Burns. It marked acomplete revolution in my idea of the earlier crimes, and of thecriminal.

  Two things influenced my change of mental attitude. The attack onBurns was one. I did not believe that Turner had strength enough tofell so vigorous a man, even with the capstan bar which we found lyingnear by. Nor could he have jerked and broken the amberline. Mrs. JohnsI eliminated for the same reason, of course. I could imagine hergetting the key by subtlety, wheedling the impressionable young sailorinto compliance. But force!

  The second reason was the stronger.

  Singleton, the mate, had become a tractable and almost amiableprisoner. Like Turner, he was ugly only when he was drinking, andthere was not even enough liquor on the Ella to revive poor Burns. Hespent his days devising, with bits of wire, a ring puzzle that heintended should make his fortune. And I believe he contrived, finally,a clever enough bit of foolery. He was anxious to talk, and complainedbitterly of loneliness, using every excuse to hold Tom, the cook, whenhe carried him his meals. He had asked for a Bible, too, and read itnow and then.

  The morning of Burns's injury, I visited Singleton.

  The new outrage, coming at a time when they were slowly recoveringconfidence, had turned the men surly. The loss of the axe, the handleof which I had told them would, under skillful eyes, reveal themurderer as accurately as a photograph, was a serious blow. Again arosethe specter of the innocent suffering for the guilty. They wentdoggedly about their work, and wherever they gathered there wasmuttered talk of the white figure. There was grumbling, too, overtheir lack of weapons for defense.

  The cook was a ringleader of the malcontents. Certain utensils wereallowed him; but he was compelled at night to lock them in the galley,after either Burns's inspection or mine, a
nd to turn over the key toone of us.

  On the morning after the attack, therefore, Tom, carrying Singleton'sbreakfast to him, told him at length what had occurred in the night,and dilated on his lack of self-defense should an attack be directedtoward him.

  Singleton promptly offered to make him, out of wire, a key to thegalley door, so that he could get what he wanted from it. The cook wasto take an impression of the lock. In exchange, Tom was to fetch him,from a hiding place which Singleton designated in the forward house, abottle of whiskey.

  The cook was a shrewd mulatto, and he let Singleton make the key. Itwas after ten that morning when he brought it to me. I was trying toget the details of his injury from Burns, at the time, in the tent.

  "I didn't see or hear anything, Leslie," Burns said feebly. "I don'teven remember being hit. I felt there was some one behind me. That wasall."

  "There had been nothing suspicious earlier in the night?"

  He lay thinking. He was still somewhat confused.

  "No--I think not. Or--yes, I thought once I saw some one standing bythe mainmast--behind it. It wasn't."

  "How long was Mrs. Johns on deck?"

  "Not long."

  "Did she ask you to do something for her?"

  Pale as he was, he colored; but he eyed me honestly.

  "Yes. Don't ask me any more, Leslie. It had nothing to do with this."

  "What did she ask you to do?" I persisted remorselessly.

  "I don't want to talk; my head aches."

  "Very well. Then I'll tell you what happened after I went off watch.No, I wasn't spying. I know the woman, that's all. She said youlooked tired, and wouldn't it be all right if you sat down for a momentand talked to her."

  "No; she said she was nervous."

  "The same thing--only better. Then she persisted in talking of thecrime, and finally she said she would like to see the axe. It wouldn'tdo any harm. She, wouldn't touch it."

  He watched me uneasily.

  "She didn't either," he said. "I'll swear to that, Leslie. She didn'tgo near the bunk. She covered her face with her hands, and leanedagainst the door. I thought she was going to faint."

  "Against the door, of course! And got an impression of the key. Thedoor opens in. She could take out the key, press it against a cake ofwax or even a cake of soap in her hand, and slip it back into the lockagain while you--What were you doing while she was doing all that?"

  "She dropped her salts. I picked them up."

  "Exactly! Well, the axe is gone."

  He started up on his elbow.

  "Gone!"

  "Thrown overboard, probably. It is not in the cabin."

  It was brutal, perhaps; but the situation was all of that. As Burnsfell back, colorless, Tom, the cook, brought into the tent the wire keythat Singleton had made.

  That morning I took from inside of Singleton's mattress a bunch ofkeys, a long steel file, and the leg of one of his chairs, carefullyunscrewed and wrapped at the end with wire a formidable club. One ofthe keys opened Singleton's door.

  That was on Saturday. Early Monday morning we sighted land.