the storeroom
windows behind. I gave her the wrap, and she flung it over her without
rising.

"Sit down, Leslie," she said, pointing to the chair beside her. And,
as I hesitated, "Don't be silly, boy. Else Lee and her sister may be
as blind as they like. You are not a sailor, or a butler, either. I
don't care what you are: I'm not going to ask any questions. Sit down;
I have to talk to some one."

I sat on the edge of the chair, somewhat uneasy, to tell the truth. The
crew were about on a night like that, and at any moment Elsa Lee might
avail herself of the dummy hand, as she sometimes did, and run up for a
breath of air or a glimpse of the sea.

"Just now, Mrs. Johns;" I said, "I am one of the crew of the Ella, and
if I am seen here--"

"Oh, fudge!" she retorted impatiently. "My reputation isn't going to
be hurt, and the man's never is. Leslie, I am frightened--you know
what I mean."

"Turner?"

"Yes."

"You mean--with the captain?"

"With any one who happens to be near. He is dangerous. It is Vail
now. He thinks Mr. Vail is in love with his wife. The fact is that
Vail--well, never mind about that. The point is this: this afternoon
he had a dispute with Williams, and knocked him down. The other women
don't know it. Vail told me. We have given out that Williams is
seasick. It will be Vail next, and, if he puts a hand on him, Vail
will kill him; I know him."

"We could stop this drinking."

"And have him shoot up the ship! I have been thinking all evening, and
only one thing occurs to me. We are five women and two men, and Vail
refuses to be alarmed. I want you to sleep in the after house. Isn't
there a storeroom where you could put a cot?"

"Yes," I agreed, "and I'll do it, of course, if you are uneasy, but I
really think--"

"Never mind what you really think. I haven't slept for three nights,
and I'm showing it." She made a motion to rise, and I helped her up.
She was a tall woman, and before I knew it she had put both her hands
on my shoulders.

"You are a poor butler, and an indifferent sailor, I believe," she
said, "but you are rather a dear. Thank you."

She left me, alternately uplifted and sheepish. But that night I took
a blanket and a pillow into the storeroom, and spread my six feet of
length along the greatest diameter of a four-by-seven pantry.

And that night, also, between six and seven bells, with the storm
subsided and only a moderate sea, Schwartz, the sec