Mrs. Johns got up and lounged to the table. She wore a long satin

negligee of some sort, draped with lace. It lay around her on the

floor in gleaming lines of soft beauty. Her reddish hair was low

on her neck, and she held a cigarette, negligently, in her teeth.

All the women smoked, Mrs. Johns incessantly.

She laid one hand lightly on the revolver, and flicked the ash from

her cigarette with the other.

"We have decided," she said insolently, "that, if the crew may

establish a dead-line, so may we. Our dead-line is the foot of

the companionway. One of us will be on watch always. I am an

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excellent shot."

"I do not doubt it." I faced her. "I am afraid you will suffer for

air; otherwise, the arrangement is good. You relieve me of part of

the responsibility for your safety. Tom will bring your food to the

steps and leave it there."

"Thank you."

"With good luck, two weeks will see us in port; and then--"

"In port! You are taking us back?"

"Why not?"

She picked up the revolver and examined it absently. Then she

glanced at me, and shrugged her shoulders. "How can we know?

Perhaps this is a mutiny, and you are on your way to some God

forsaken island. That's the usual thing among pirates, isn't it?"

"I have no answer to that, Mrs. Johns," I said quietly, and turned

to where Elsa sat.

"I shall not come back unless you send for me," I said. "But I

want you to know that my one object in life from now on is to get

you back safely to land; that your safety comes first, and that

the vigilance on deck in your interest will not be relaxed."

"Fine words!" the stewardess muttered.

The low mumbling from Turner's room had persisted steadily. Now it

rose again in the sharp frenzy that had characterized it through

the long night.

"Don't look at me like that, man!" he cried, and then "He's lost a

hand! A hand!"

Mrs. Turner went quickly into the cabin, and the sounds ceased. I

looked at Elsa, but she avoided my eyes. I turned heavily and went

up the companionway.




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