The After House
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Mary Roberts Rinehart >> The After House
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He was in a state of mental and physical collapse, and begged so
pitifully not to be left, that at last I told him I would take him
with me, on his promise to remain in a chair until dawn, and to go
back without demur. He sat near me, amidships, huddled down among
the cushions of one of the wicker chairs, not sleeping, but staring
straight out, motionless.
With the first light of dawn Burns relieved me, and I went forward
with Singleton. He dropped into his bunk, and was asleep almost
immediately. Then, inch by inch, I went over the deck for footprints,
for any clue to what, under happier circumstances, I should have
considered a ghastly hoax. But the deck was slippery and sodden,
the rail dripping, and between the davits where the jolly-boat had
swung was stretched a line with a shirt of Burns's hung on it,
absurdly enough, to dry. Poor Burns, promoted to the dignity of
first mate, and trying to dress the part!
Oleson and Adams made no attempt to work that day; indeed, Oleson
was not able. As I had promised, the breakfast for the after
house was placed on the companion steps by Tom, the cook, whence it
was removed by Mrs. Sloane. I saw nothing of either Elsa Lee or
Mrs. Johns. Burns was inclined to resent the deadline the women
had drawn below, and suggested that, since they were so anxious to
take care of themselves, we give up guarding the after house and
let them do it. We were short-handed enough, he urged, and, if
they were going to take that attitude, let them manage. I did not
argue, but my eyes traveled over the rail to where the jolly-boat
rose to meet the fresh sea of the morning, and he colored. After
that he made no comment.
Singleton awakened before noon, and ate his first meal since the
murders. He looked better, and we had a long talk, I outside the
window and he within. He held to his story of the night before, but
was still vague as to just how the thing looked. Of what it was he
seemed to have no doubt. It was the specter of either the captain
or Vail; he excluded the woman, because she was shorter. As I stood
outside, he measured on me the approximate height of the apparition
--somewhere about five feet eight. He could see Burns's shirt, he
admitted, but the thing had been close to the window.
I found myself convinced against my will, and that afternoon, alone,
I made a second and more thorough examination of the forecastle and
the hold. In the former I found nothing. Having been closed for
over twenty-four hours, it was stifling and full of odors. The crew,
abandoning it in haste, had left it in disorder. I made a systematic
search, beginning forward and working back. I prodded in and under
bunks, and moved the clothing that hung on every hook and swung, to
the undoing of my nerves, with every swell. Much curious salvage I
found under mattresses and beneath bunks: a rosary and a dozen
filthy pictures under the same pillow; more than one bottle of
whiskey; and even, where it had been dropped in the haste of flight,
a bottle of cocaine. The bottle set me to thinking: had we a "coke"
fiend on board, and, if we had, who was it?
The examination of the hold led to one curious and not easily
explained discovery. The Ella was in gravel ballast, and my search
there was difficult and nerve-racking. The creaking of the girders
and floor-plates, the groaning overhead of the trestle-trees, and
once an unexpected list that sent me careening, head first, against
a ballast-tank, made my position distinctly disagreeable. And above
all the incidental noises of a ship's hold was one that I could not
place--a regular knocking, which kept time with the list of the boat.
I located it at last, approximately, at one of the ballast ports,
but there was nothing to be seen. The port had been carefully barred
and calked over. The sound was not loud. Down there among the other
noises, I seemed to feel as well as hear it. I sent Burns down, and
he came up, puzzled.
"It's outside," he said. "Something cracking against her ribs."
"You didn't notice it yesterday, did you?"
"No; but yesterday we were not listening for noises."
The knocking was on the port side. We went forward together, and,
leaning well out, looked over the rail.
The missing marlinespike was swinging there, banging against the
hull with every roll of the ship. It was fastened by a rope
lanyard to a large bolt below the rail, and fastened with what
Burns called a Blackwall hitch--a sailor's knot.
CHAPTER XVI
JONES STUMBLES OVER SOMETHING
I find, from my journal, that the next seven days passed without
marked incident. Several times during that period we sighted vessels,
all outward bound, and once we were within communicating distance of
a steam cargo boat on her way to Venezuela. She lay to and sent her
first mate over to see what could be done.
He was a slim little man with dark eyes and a small mustache above
a cheerful mouth. He listened in silence to my story, and shuddered
when I showed him the jolly-boat. But we were only a few days out
by that time, and, after all, what could they do? He offered to
spare us a hand, if it could be arranged; but, Adams having recovered
by that time, we decided to get along as we were. A strange sight
we must have presented to the tidy little officer in his uniform and
black tie: a haggard, unshaven lot of men, none too clean, all
suffering from strain and lack of sleep, with nerves ready to snap;
a white yacht, motionless, her sails drooping,--for not a breath of
air moved,--with unpolished brasses and dirty decks; in charge of
all, a tall youth, unshaven like the rest, and gaunt from sickness,
who hardly knew a nautical phrase, who shook the little officer's
hand with a ferocity of welcome that made him change color, and whose
uniform consisted of a pair of dirty khaki trousers and a khaki shirt,
open at the neck; and behind us, wallowing in the trough of the sea
as the Ella lay to, the jolly-boat, so miscalled, with its sinister
cargo.
The Buenos Aires went on, leaving us a bit cheered, perhaps, but
none the better off, except that she verified our bearings. The
after house had taken no notice of the incident. None of the women
had appeared, nor did they make any inquiry of the cook when he
carried down their dinner that night. As entirely as possible,
during the week that had passed, they had kept to themselves. Turner
was better, I imagined; but, the few times when Elsa Lee appeared at
the companion for a breath of air, I was off duty and missed her. I
thought it was by design, and I was desperate for a sight of her.
Mrs. Johns came on deck once or twice while I was there, but she
chose to ignore me. The stewardess, however, was not so partisan,
and, the day before we met the Buenos Aires, she spent a little time
on deck, leaning against the rail and watching me with alert black
eyes.
"What are you going to do when you get to land, Mr. Captain Leslie?"
she asked. "Are you going to put us all in prison?"
"That's as may be," I evaded. She was a pretty little woman, plump
and dark, and she slid her hand along the rail until it touched mine.
Whereon, I did the thing she was expecting, and put my fingers over
hers. She flushed a little, and dimpled.
"You are human, aren't you?" she asked archly. "I am not afraid
of you."
"No one is, I am sure."
"Silly! Why, they are all afraid of you, down there." She jerked
her head toward the after house. "They want to offer you something,
but none of them will do it."
"Offer me something?"
She came a little closer, so that her round shoulder touched mine.
"Why not? You need money, I take it. And that's the one thing they
have--money."
I began to understand her.
"I see," I said slowly. "They want to bribe me."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"That is a nasty word. They might wish to buy--a key or two that
you carry."
"The storeroom key, of course. But what other?"
She looked around--we were alone. A light breeze filled the sails
and flicked the end of a scarf she wore against my face.
"The key to the captain's cabin," she said, very low.
That was what they wished to buy: the incriminating key to the
storeroom, found on Turner's floor, and access to the axe, with
its telltale prints on the handle.
The stewardess saw my face harden, and put her hand on my arm.
"Now I am afraid of you!" she cried: "When you look like that!"
"Mrs. Sloane," I said, "I do not know that you were asked to do
this--I think not. But if you were, say for me what I am willing
to say for myself: I shall tell what I know, and there is not
money enough in the world to prevent my telling it straight. The
right man is going to be punished, and the key to the storeroom
will be given to the police, and to no one else."
"But--the other key?"
"That is not in my keeping."
"I do not believe you!"
"I am sorry," I said shortly. "As a matter of fact, Burns has that."
By the look of triumph in her eyes I knew I had told her what she
wanted to know. She went below soon after, and I warned Burns that
he would probably be approached in the same way.
"Not that I am afraid," I added. "But keep the little Sloane woman
at a distance. She's quite capable of mesmerizing you with her
eyes and robbing you with her hands at the same time."
"I'd rather you'd carry it," he said, "although I'm not afraid of
the lady. It's not likely, after--"
He did not finish, but he glanced aft toward the jollyboat. Poor
Burns! I believe he had really cared for the Danish girl. Perhaps
I was foolish, but I refused to take the key from him; I felt sure
he could be trusted.
The murders had been committed on the early morning of Wednesday,
the 12th. It was on the following Tuesday that Mrs. Sloane and I
had our little conversation on deck, and on Wednesday we came up
with the Buenos Aires.
It was on Friday, therefore, two days after the cargo steamer had
slid over the edge of the ocean, and left us, motionless, a painted
ship upon a painted sea, that the incident happened that completed
the demoralization of the crew.
For almost a week the lookouts had reported "All's well" in response
to the striking of the ship's bell. The hysteria, as Burns and I
dubbed it, of the white figure had died away as the men's nerves
grew less irritated. Although we had found no absolute explanation
of the marlinespike, an obvious one suggested itself. The men,
although giving up their weapons without protest, had grumbled
somewhat over being left without means of defense. It was entirely
possible, we agreed, that the marlinespike had been so disposed, as
some seaman's resort in time of need.
The cook, taking down the dinner on Friday evening, reported Mr.
Turner up and about and partly dressed. The heat was frightful.
All day we had had a following breeze, and it had been necessary to
lengthen the towing-rope, dropping the jolly-boat well behind us.
The men, saying little or nothing, dozed under their canvas; the
helmsman drooped at the wheel. Under our feet the boards sent up
simmering heat waves, and the brasses were too hot to touch.
At four o'clock Elsa Lee came on deck, and spoke to me for the
first time in several days. She started when she saw me, and no
wonder. In the frenzied caution of the day after the crimes, I
had flung every razor overboard, and the result was as villainous
a set of men as I have ever seen.
"Have you been ill again?" she asked.
I put my hand to my chin. "Not ill," I said; "merely unshaven."
"But you are pale, and your eyes are sunk in your head."
"We are very short-handed and--no one has slept much."
"Or eaten at all, I imagine," she said. "When do we get in?"
"I can hardly say. With this wind, perhaps Tuesday."
"Where?"
"Philadelphia."
"You intend to turn the yacht over to the police?"
"Yes, Miss Lee."
"Every one on it?"
"That is up to the police. They will probably not hold the women.
You will be released, I imagine, on your own recognizance."
"And--Mr. Turner?"
"He will have to take his luck with the rest of us."
She asked me no further questions, but switched at once to what had
brought her on deck.
"The cabin is unbearable," she said. "We are willing to take the
risk of opening the after companion door."
But I could not allow this, and I tried to explain my reasons. The
crew were quartered there, for one; for the other, whether they were
willing to take the risk or not, I would not open it without placing
a guard there, and we had no one to spare for the duty. I suggested
that they use the part of the deck reserved for them, where it was
fairly cool under the awning; and, after a dispute below, they agreed
to this. Turner, very weak, came up the few steps slowly, but
refused my proffered help. A little later, he called me from the
rail and offered me a cigar. The change in him was startling.
We took advantage of their being on deck to open the windows and
air the after house. But all were securely locked and barred before
they went below again. It was the first time they had all been on
deck together since the night of the 11th. It was a different crowd
of people that sat there, looking over the rail and speaking in
monosyllables: no bridge, no glasses clinking with ice, no elaborate
toilets and carefully dressed hair, no flash of jewels, no light
laughter following one of poor Vail's sallies.
At ten o'clock they went below, but not until I had quietly located
every member of the crew. I had the watch from eight to twelve that
night, and at half after ten Mrs. Johns came on deck again. She did
not speak to me, but dropped into a steamer-chair and yawned,
stretching out her arms. By the light of the companion lantern, I
saw that she had put on one of the loose negligees she affected for
undress, and her arms were bare except for a fall of lace.
At eight bells (midnight) Burns took my place. Charlie Jones was at
the wheel, and McNamara in the crow's-nest. Mrs. Johns was dozing in
her chair. The yacht was making perhaps four knots, and, far behind,
the small white light of the jolly-boat showed where she rode.
I slept heavily, and at eight bells I rolled off my blanket and
prepared to relieve Burns. I was stiff, weary, unrefreshed. The air
was very still and we were hardly moving. I took a pail of water
that stood near the rail, and, leaning far out, poured it over my
head and shoulders. As I turned, dripping, Jones, relieved of the
wheel, touched me on the arm.
"Go back to sleep, boy," he said kindly. "We need you, and we're
goin' to need you more when we get ashore. You've been talkin' in
your sleep till you plumb scared me."
But I was wide awake by that time, and he had had as little sleep as
I had. I refused, and we went forward together, Jones to get coffee,
which stood all night on the galley stove.
It was still dark. The dawn, even in the less than four weeks we
had been out, came perceptibly later. At the port forward corner of
the after house, Jones stumbled over something, and gave a sharp
exclamation. The next moment he was on his knees, lighting a match.
Burns lay there on his face, unconscious, and bleeding profusely
from a cut on the back of his head--but not dead.
CHAPTER XVII
THE AXE IS GONE
My first thought was of the after house. Jones, who had been fond
of Burns, was working over him, muttering to himself. I felt his
heart, which was beating slowly but regularly, and, convinced that
he was not dying, ran down into the after house. The cabin was
empty: evidently the guard around the pearl handled revolver had
been given up on the false promise of peace. All the lights were
going, however, and the heat was suffocating.
I ran to Miss Lee's door, and tried it. It was locked, but almost
instantly she spoke from inside:
"What is it?"
"Nothing much. Can you come out?"
She came a moment later, and I asked her to call into each cabin
to see if every one was safe. The result was reassuring--no one
had been disturbed; and I was put to it to account to Miss Lee for
my anxiety without telling her what had happened. I made some sort
of excuse, which I have forgotten, except that she evidently did
not believe it.
On deck, the men were gathered around Burns. There were ominous
faces among them, and mutterings of hatred and revenge; for Burns
had been popular--the best-liked man among them all. Jones, wrought
to the highest pitch, had even shed a few shamefaced tears, and was
obliterating the humiliating memory by an extra brusqueness of manner.
We carried the injured man aft, and with such implements as I had I
cleaned and dressed the wound. It needed sewing, and it seemed best
to do it before he regained consciousness. Jones and Adams went below
to the forecastle, therefore, and brought up my amputating set, which
contained, besides its knives, some curved needles and surgical silk,
still in good condition.
I opened the case, and before the knives, the long surgeon's knives
which were in use before the scalpel superseded them, they fell back,
muttering and amazed.
I did not know that Elsa Lee also was watching until, having
requested Jones, who had been a sailmaker, to thread the needles,
his trembling hands refused their duty. I looked up, searching the
group for a competent assistant, and saw the girl. She had dressed,
and the light from the lantern beside me on the deck threw into
relief her white figure among the dark ones. She came forward as my
eyes fell on her.
"Let me try," she said; and, kneeling by the lantern, in a moment
she held out the threaded needle. Her hand was quite steady. She
made an able assistant, wiping clean the oozing edges of the wound
so that I could see to clip the bleeding vessels, and working deftly
with the silk and needles to keep me supplied. My old case yielded
also a roll or so of bandage. By the time Burns was attempting an
incoordinate movement or two, the operation was over and the
instruments put out of sight.
His condition was good. The men carried him to the tent, where
Jones sat beside him, and the other men stood outside, uneasy and
watchful, looking in.
The operating-case, with its knives, came in for its share of
scrutiny, and I felt that an explanation was due the men. To tell
the truth, I had forgotten all about the case. Perhaps I swaggered
just a bit as I went over to wash my hands. It was my first
opportunity, and I was young, and the Girl was there.
"I see you looking at my case, boys," I said. "Perhaps I'm a little
late explaining, but I guess after what you've seen you'll understand.
The case belonged to my grandfather, who was a surgeon. He was in
the war. That case was at Gettysburg."
"And because of your grandfather you brought it on shipboard!" Clarke
said nastily.
"No. I'm a cub doctor myself. I'd been sick, and I needed the sea
and a rest."
They were not so impressed as I had expected--or perhaps they had
known all along. Sailors are a secretive lot.
"I'm thinking we'll all be getting a rest soon," a voice said. "What
are you going to do with them knives?"
I had an inspiration. "I'm going to leave that to you men," I said.
"You may throw them overboard, if you wish--but, if you do, take
out the needles and the silk; we may need them."
There followed a savage but restrained argument among the men.
Jones, from the tent, called out irritably:--
"Don't be fools, you fellows. This happened while Leslie was asleep.
I'll swear he never moved after he lay down."
The crew reached a decision shortly after that, and came to me in
a body.
"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.
The door into the captain's room was open, and the axe was gone from
the bunk. The key, with the cord that Burns had worn around his neck,
was in the door, the string torn and pulled as if it had been jerked
away from the unconscious man. Later on we verified this by finding,
on the back of Bums's neck an abraded line two inches or so in length.
It was a strong cord--the kind a sailor pins his faith to, and uses
indiscriminately to hold his trousers or his knife.
I ordered a rigid search of the deck, but the axe was gone. Nor was
it ever found. It had taken its bloody story many fathoms deep into
the old Atlantic, and hidden it, where many crimes have been hidden,
in the ooze and slime of the sea-bottom.
That day was memorable for more than the attack on Burns. It marked
a complete revolution in my idea of the earlier crimes, and of the
criminal.
Two things influenced my change of mental attitude. The attack on
Burns was one. I did not believe that Turner had strength enough to
fell so vigorous a man, even with the capstan bar which we found
lying near by. Nor could he have jerked and broken the amberline.
Mrs. Johns I eliminated for the same reason, of course. I could
imagine her getting the key by subtlety, wheedling the impressionable
young sailor into compliance. But force!
The second reason was the stronger.
Singleton, the mate, had become a tractable and almost amiable
prisoner. Like Turner, he was ugly only when he was drinking, and
there was not even enough liquor on the Ella to revive poor Burns.
He spent his days devising, with bits of wire, a ring puzzle that he
intended should make his fortune. And I believe he contrived,
finally, a clever enough bit of foolery. He was anxious to talk,
and complained bitterly of loneliness, using every excuse to hold
Tom, the cook, when he carried him his meals. He had asked for a
Bible, too, and read it now and then.
The morning of Bums's injury, I visited Singleton.
The new outrage, coming at a time when they were slowly recovering
confidence, had turned the men surly. The loss of the axe, the
handle of which I had told them would, under skillful eyes, reveal
the murderer as accurately as a photograph, was a serious blow.
Again arose the specter of the innocent suffering for the guilty.
They went doggedly about their work, and wherever they gathered
there was muttered talk of the white figure. There was grumbling,
too, over their lack of weapons for defense.
The cook was a ringleader of the malcontents. Certain utensils
were allowed him; but he was compelled at night to lock them in the
galley, after either Burns's inspection or mine, and to turn over
the key to one of us.
On the morning after the attack, therefore, Tom, carrying Singleton's
breakfast to him, told him at length what had occurred in the night,
and dilated on his lack of self-defense should an attack be directed
toward him.
Singleton promptly offered to make him, out of wire, a key to the
galley door, so that he could get what he wanted from it. The cook
was to take an impression of the lock. In exchange, Tom was to fetch
him, from a hiding place which Singleton designated in the forward
house, a bottle of whiskey.
The cook was a shrewd mulatto, and he let Singleton make the key.
It was after ten that morning when he brought it to me. I was
trying to get the details of his injury from Burns, at the time, in
the tent.
"I didn't see or hear anything, Leslie," Burns said feebly. "I
don't even remember being hit. I felt there was some one behind me.
That was all."
"There had been nothing suspicious earlier in the night?"
He lay thinking. He was still somewhat confused.
"No--I think not. Or--yes, I thought once I saw some one standing
by the mainmast--behind it. It wasn't."
"How long was Mrs. Johns on deck?"
"Not long."
"Did she ask you to do something for her?"
Pale as he was, he colored; but he eyed me honestly.
"Yes. Don't ask me any more, Leslie. It had nothing to do with
this."
"What did she ask you to do?" I persisted remorselessly.
"I don't want to talk; my head aches."
"Very well. Then I'll tell you what happened after I went off watch.
No, I wasn't spying. I know the woman, that's all. She said you
looked tired, and wouldn't it be all right if you sat down for a
moment and talked to her."
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