"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
the injured man's clothing, was searching among the blankets on which
he lay. There was no key. I went out to the men again, bewildered.
The dawn had come, a pink and rosy dawn that promised another
stifling day. It revealed the disarray of the deck--he basins, the
old mahogany amputating-case with its lock plate of bone, the stained
and reddened towels; 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
key to 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,
some one 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 her
meaning, too, and we tramped heavily forward, the girl and I leading.
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