“s-h-e s-a-y-s s-h-e s-u-r-e l-o-v-e-s y-o-u s-t-i-l-l a-n-d i-s w-a-i-t-i-n-g f-o-r y-o-u”
“Mary!” The cry burst from him, sobbingly, on a note of poignant anguish. Jensen felt the tears start to his eyes. Horst cowered still, face hidden, in his corner.
There was a long moment in which Lyngstrand failed to bring another sound to utterance. He swayed as though about to faint. Then once more he mastered himself.
“What—what happened?” he asked, unsteadily. “How did she die? Was she torpedoed?”
“s-h-e s-a-y-s s-t-e-a-m-e-r t-r-o-n-d-h-j-e-m s-u-n-k g-u-n-f-i-r-e r-e-s-c-u-e-d s-m-a-l-l b-o-a-t b-y g-l-o-u-c-e-s-t-e-r c-i-t-y a-f-t-e-r-w-a-r-d t-o-r-p-e-d-o-e-d”
Lyngstrand reeled with closed eyes. He had a vivid vision of the torn wreck in the depths beneath them, carnivorous fish darting where their anchor grappled its untenanted bridge.
“Did—did they have a chance?” he asked.
“n-i-g-h-t w-i-t-h-o-u-t w-a-r-n-i-n-g” came the answer.
Lyngstrand drew another deep breath, glanced at the motionless Horst.
“And—and the man—the man who sank her?”