“Then will you find two who will volunteer to come here, and ask them to do so immediately?”
“At once, sir.”
By the time that Darrin had hung up the instrument, Hunter, the ship’s medical officer, had reached the doorway. He came in and bent over the figure on the berth.
“Not a chance,” he said, briefly. “Drowned. But I do not believe, Darrin, that she suffered. There was a shock—”
“Shock?” Dave Darrin repeated. “Yes—a shell exploded in her boat.”
“I do not believe she was wounded,” went on Hunter. “It must have been the shock. She probably collapsed from the force of the explosion, and the water did the rest.”
A messenger knocked at the doorway, then introduced two middle-aged women, who stepped inside promptly.
“You will do something, of course, Hunter?” Dave queried. “You will attempt resuscitation—you will try to revive her?”
“I’ll try, of course,” replied the medical man, dubiously. “Yes. I will work like a fiend, Darrin. Sometimes a spark of life lingers. But do not hope!”
“I shall be in the corridor outside,” Dave answered quietly. “Call me when—”