“Mr. Pitt! Gardy! Where are you?”
The fog cleared. I was sane again. In the shaft of light Betty Baldwin stood balanced ready to run forward at my response. Her right hand was at her bosom, her head on one side in an attitude of anxious listening, but the darkness hid us from her sight!
There was not one of us but was hideous to behold. Wilson, who had done the most fighting in spite of his wounded leg, was the least damaged and he required water, bandages, and fresh clothes, before being presentable. I closed George’s door, leaving the deck in total darkness.
“Everything is all right,” I said as quietly as I could. “Now come straight ahead.”
I met her in the darkness, caught her wet sleeve and guided her swiftly to the door of her stateroom.
“Go in and shut the door. Quick!”
She obeyed without questioning.
“Where’s Captain Brack?” I asked through the keyhole.
“Over there—ashore, I suppose. I slipped into the water and swam out here you know, as soon as I heard him go crashing into the brush where he thought I was.”
“You—what? You called—you swam?”