I turned dizzy, expecting
nothing less than sudden death, when it developed that Jones, having
stumbled over a loose plank, had fallen forward, the revolver in his
outstretched hand striking my head.
He picked himself up sheepishly, and we went on. But so unnerved
was I by this fresh shock that it was a moment or two before I could
essay the ladder.
Burns was waiting at the hatchway, peering down. Beside him on the
deck lay a bloodstained axe.
Elsa Lee, on hearing the story of Henrietta Sloane, had gone to the
maids' cabin, and had found it where it had been flung into the berth
of the stewardess.
CHAPTER VIII
THE STEWARDESS'S STORY
But, after all, the story of Henrietta Sloane only added to the
mystery. She told it to me, sitting propped in a chair in Mrs.
Johns's room, her face white, her lips dry and twitching. The crew
were making such breakfast as they could on deck, and Mr. Turner
was still in a stupor in his room across the main cabin. The four
women, drawn together in their distress, were huddled in the center
of the room, touching hands now and then, as if finding comfort in
contact, and reassurance.
"I went to bed early," said the stewardess; "about ten o'clock, I
think. Karen had not come down; I wakened when the watch changed.
It was hot, and the window from our room to the deck was open.
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