The waiter eyed the woman on the floor.
"She's dead. Nobody knows who killed her. Let's all help carry th' body out to Meigg's Wharf an' set her afloat."
Stirling shook his head. He heard behind him the soft step of the piano-player who came from a door set near the piano.
"I'll swing for it," he said to the Ice Pilot, a whine in his voice. "Help me out of th' mess, matey. Let's set Thedessa adrift—she always wanted to float out to sea that way."
Stirling felt an urging glance from the sailor who resembled the second-lieutenant. He moved to this man's side and was going to question him when the wick of the lamp sputtered and went out.
Another wick was lighted and this was thrust in the mouth of a wine bottle, where it flared like a torch at sea.
"What d'ye say?" questioned the piano-player. "What does everybody say? Th' police will pinch us all for th' murder an' keep us in jail for weeks."
"You knifed that woman!" declared Stirling.
The piano-player blinked his pale lashes, then went to the door, drew a key from his pocket, and threw back the bolt of the lock. He looked out into the vale of mist and fog that stretched from Telegraph Hill to the waters of the Bay.
"Who'll help me carry Thedessa?" he queried.