Tom's watch in there?"

Mrs. Travers got up from the floor. She tottered, snatching at the air,
and found the back of the armchair under her hand.

"Who's there?"

She was also ready to ask: "Where am I?" but she remembered and at once
became the prey of that active dread which had been lying dormant for
a few hours in her uneasy and prostrate body. "What time is it?" she
faltered out.

"Dawn," pronounced the imperturbable voice at the door. It seemed to
her that it was a word that could make any heart sink with apprehension.
Dawn! She stood appalled. And the toneless voice outside the door
insisted:

"You must have Tom's watch there!"

"I haven't seen it," she cried as if tormented by a dream.

"Look in that desk thing. If you push open the shutter you will be able
to see."

Mrs. Travers became aware of the profound darkness of the cabin.
Jorgenson heard her staggering in there. After a moment a woman's voice,
which struck even him as strange, said in faint tones:

"I have it. It's stopped."

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to know the time. There should be a key
about. See it anywhere?"

"Yes, it's fastened to the watch," the dazed voice answered from within.
Jorgenson waited before making his request. "Will you pass it out to me?
There's precious little time left now!"

The door flew open, which was certainly something Jorgenson had not
expected. He had expected but a hand with the watch protruded through
a narrow crack, But he didn't start back or give any other sign of
surprise at seeing Mrs. Travers fully dressed. Against the faint
clearness in the frame of the open shutter she presented to him the dark
silhouette of her shoulders surmounted by a sleek head, because her
hair was still in the two plaits. To Jorgenson Mrs. Travers in her
un-European dress had always been displeasing, almost monstrous. Her
stature, her gestures, her general carriage struck his eye as
absurdly incongruous with a Malay costume, too ample, too free, too
bold--offensive. To Mrs. Travers, Jorgenson, in the dusk of the passage,
had the aspect of a dim white ghost, and he chilled her by his ghost's
aloofness.

He picked up the watch from her outspread palm without a word of thanks,
only mumbling in his moustache, "H'm, yes, that's it. I haven't yet
forgotten how to count seconds correctly, but it's better to have a
watch."

She had not the slightest notion what he meant. And she did not care.
Her mind remained confused