Heideck’s frame shook convulsively. A fearful suspicion occurred to him. He needed all his strength of will to control himself.
“And the lady?”
“Herr major, it was the lady who met with an accident. She fell overboard on the journey.”
Heideck clasped the back of the chair before him with both hands. Every drop of blood had left his face.
“Fell—overboard? Good God, man—and she was not saved?”
Brandelaar shook his hand.
“No, Herr major! She would stay on deck in spite of the storm, though Van dem Bosch kept asking her to go below. When a violent squall broke the halyard, she was knocked overboard by the gaff. As the sea was running high, there was no chance of saving her.”
Heideck had covered his face with his hand. A dull groan burst from his violently heaving breast and a voice within him exclaimed—
“The guilt is yours. She sought death of her own accord, and it was you who drove her to it!”
His voice sounded dry and harsh when he turned to the skipper and said—