"What a flirt that girl is," thought Mrs. Pellypop, as she looked after the young lady; "I'm sure I don't know what the world is coming to; I never flirted," and to Mrs. Pellypop's credit, it must be said, she never had, but then, as Rochefoucauld remarks, some women are safe because nobody seeks after them.
When Ronald emerged from his cabin in evening dress, he was caught at the foot of the stairs by Pat, who, in company with a few convivial spirits, was having a sherry and bitters.
"Come and have something to drink after all your labours," he said, in a hospitable manner; "anything new about the affair?"
"No, I don't think so," replied Ronald sadly; "poor Ventin! To think he was so jolly last night and now dead."
"Do you think the person who killed him is on board?" asked Pat, confidentially.
"No I don't," retorted Ronald, decisively; "I believe she's to be found at Malta, and I'll hunt her down and punish her somehow."
"Why?"
"Because I liked Ventin--he had a miserable life, and a miserable end, and a wicked woman like that wife of his is not fit to live."
"Stop a bit old boy," observed Pat, coolly, "you haven't brought the crime home to her yet."
"But I will," reiterated Monteith, doggedly; "I'm sure it's she, and if it isn't, I'll make it my business in life to find out who is the criminal."