The After House

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER IX

  PRISONERS

  MY first thought had been for the women, and, unluckily, to save them ashock I had all evidences of the crime cleared away as quickly aspossible. Stains that might have been of invaluable service indetermining the murderer were washed away almost before they were dry.I realized this now, too late. But the axe remained, and I felt thatits handle probably contained a record for more skillful eyes than mineto read, prints that under the microscope would reveal the murderer'sidentity as clearly as a photograph.

  I sent for Burns, who reported that he had locked the axe in thecaptain's cabin. He gave me the key, which I fastened to a string andhung around my neck under my shirt. He also reported that, as I hadsuggested, the crew had gone, two at a time, into the forecastle, andhad brought up what they needed to stay on deck. The forecastle hadbeen closed and locked in the presence of the crew, and the key givento Burns, who fastened it to his watch-chain. The two hatchways leadingto the hold had been fastened down also, and Oleson, who was ship'scarpenter, had nailed them fast.

  The crew had been instructed to stay aft of the wheel, except when onwatch. Thus the helmsman need not be alone. As I have said, the doorat the top of the companion steps, near the wheel, was closed andlocked, and entrance to the after house was to be gained only by theforward companion. It was the intention of Burns and myself to keepwatch here, amidships.

  Burns had probably suffered more than any of us. Whatever his relationto the Hansen woman had been, he had been with her only three hoursbefore her death, and she was wearing a ring of his, a silver rope tiedin a sailor's knot, when she died. And Burns had been fond of CaptainRichardson, in a crew where respect rather than affection toward thechief officer was the rule.

  When Burns gave me the key to the captain's room Charlie Jones hadreached the other end of the long cabin, and was staring through intothe chartroom. It was a time to trust no one, and I assured myselfthat Jones was not looking before I thrust it into my shirt.

  "They're--all ready, Leslie," Burns said, his face working. "What arewe going to do with them?"

  "We'll have to take them back."

  "But we can't do that. It's a two weeks' matter, and in this weather--"

  "We will take them back, Burns," I said shortly, and he assentedmechanically:--

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Just how it was to be done was a difficult thing to decide. Miss Leehad not appeared yet, and the three of us, Jones, Burns, and I, talkedit over. Jones suggested that we put them in one of the life boats,and nail over it a canvas and tarpaulin cover.

  "It ain't my own idea," he said modestly. "I seen it done once, on theArgentina. It worked all right for a while, and after a week or so welowered the jolly-boat and towed it astern."

  I shuddered; but the idea was a good one, and I asked Burns to go upand get the boat ready.

  "We must let the women up this afternoon," I said, "and, if it ispossible, try to keep them from learning where the bodies are. We canrope off a part of the deck for them, and ask them not to leave it."

  Miss Lee came out then, and Burns went on deck.

  The girl was looking better. The exertion of dressing had brought backher color, and her lips, although firmly set, were not drawn. She stoodjust outside the door and drew a deep breath.

  "You must not keep us prisoners any longer, Leslie," she said. "Put aguard over us, if you must, but let us up in the air."

  "This afternoon, Miss Lee," I said. "This morning you are betterbelow."

  She understood me, but she had no conception of the brutality of thecrime, even then.

  "I am not a child. I wish to see them. I shall have to testify--"

  "You will not see them, Miss Lee."

  She stood twisting her handkerchief in her hands. She saw CharlieJones pacing the length of the cabin, revolver in hand. From thechartroom came the sound of hammering, where the after companion door,already locked, was being additionally secured with strips of woodnailed across.

  "I understand," she said finally. "Will you take me to Karen's room?"

  I could see no reason for objecting; but so thorough was the panic thathad infected us all that I would not allow her in until I had precededher, and had searched in the clothes closet and under the two bunks.Williams had not reached this room yet, and there was a pool of bloodon the floor.

  She had a great deal of courage. She glanced at the stain, and lookedaway again quickly.

  "I--think I shall not come in. Will you look at the bell register forme? What bell is registered?"

  "Three."

  "Three!" she said. "Are you sure?"

  I looked again. "It is three."

  "Then it was not my sister's bell that rang. It was Mr. Vail's!"

  "It must be a mistake. Perhaps the wires--"

  "Mrs. Turner's room is number one. Please go back and ask her to ringher bell, while I see how it registers."

  But I would not leave her there alone. I went with her to her sister'sdoor, and together we returned to the maids' cabin. Mrs. Turner hadrung as we requested, and her bell had registered "One."

  "He rang for help!" she cried, and broke down utterly. She droppedinto a chair in the chart-room and cried softly, helplessly, while Istood by, unable to think of anything to do or say. I think now thatit was the best thing she could have done, though at the time I wasalarmed. I ventured, finally, to put my hand on her shoulder.

  "Please!" I said.

  Charlie Jones came to the door of the chartroom, and retreated withinstinctive good taste. She stopped crying after a time, and I knewthe exact instant when she realized my touch. I felt her stiffen;without looking up, she drew away from my hand; and I stepped back,hurt and angry--the hurt for her, the anger that I could not rememberthat I was her hired servant.

  When she got up, she did not look at me, nor I at her--at least notconsciously. But when, in those days, was I not looking at her, seeingher, even when my eyes were averted, feeling her presence before anyordinary sense told me she was near? The sound of her voice in theearly mornings, when I was washing down the deck, had been enough toset my blood pounding in my ears. The last thing I saw at night, whenI took myself to the storeroom to sleep, was her door across the maincabin; and in the morning, stumbling out with my pillow and blanket, Igave it a foolish little sign of greeting.

  What she would not see the men had seen, and, in their need, they hadmade me their leader. To her I was Leslie, the common sailor. Iregistered a vow, that morning, that I would be the common sailor untilthe end of the voyage.

  "Mr. Turner is awake, I believe," I said stiffly.

  "Very well."

  She turned back into the main cabin; but she paused at the storeroomdoor.

  "It is curious that you heard nothing," she said slowly. "You sleptwith this door open, didn't you?"

  "I was locked in."

  She stooped quickly and looked at the lock.

  "You broke it open?"

  "Partly, at the last. I heard--" I stopped. I did not want to tellher what I had heard. But she knew.

  "You heard--Karen, when she screamed?"

  "Yes. I was aroused before that,--I do not know how,--and found I waslocked in. I thought it might be a joke--forecastle hands are fond ofjoking, and they resented my being brought here to sleep. I took outsome of the screws with my knife, and--then I broke the door."

  "You saw no one?"

  "It was dark; I saw and heard no one."

  "But, surely--the man at the wheel--"

  "Hush," I warned her; "he is there. He heard something, but thehelmsman cannot leave the wheel."

  She was stooping to the lock again.

  "You are sure it was locked?"

  "The bolt is still shot." I showed her.

  "Then--where is the key?"

  "The key!"

  "Certainly. Find the key, and you will find the man who locked you in."

  "Unless," I reminded her, "it flew out when I bro
ke the lock."

  "In that case, it will be on the floor."

  But an exhaustive search of the cabin floor discovered no key. Jones,seeing us searching, helped, his revolver in one hand and a lightedmatch in the other, handling both with an abandon of ease thatthreatened us alternately with fire and a bullet. But there was no key.

  "It stands to reason, miss," he said, when we had given up, "that,since the key isn't here, it isn't on the ship. That there key is asort of red-hot give-away. No one is going to carry a thing like thataround. Either it's here in this cabin--which it isn't--or it'soverboard."

  "Very likely, Jones. But I shall ask Mr. Turner to search the men."

  She went toward Turner's door, and Jones leaned over me, putting a handon my arm.

  "She's right, boy," he said quickly. "Don't let 'em know what you'reafter, but go through their pockets. And their shoes!" he called afterme. "A key slips into a shoe mighty easy."

  But, after all, it was not necessary. The key was to be found, andvery soon.