“I see the upper deck very plainly.” Mrs. Wells closed her eyes. Geraldine moved to a seat back of her mother, from which safe position she raised a warning finger to Mr. Richard. “Don’t fidget, Geraldine; I must concentrate.... Geraldine is in a kimono; her hair braided and wound around; she leans over a man in white trousers and she says, ‘Is that you, Richard?’ and adds, ‘This is Jerry.’ He says he is not Richard. Geraldine apologizes and moves away. The white trousers stare after her.”
“Very rude of the white trousers, I am sure,” Geraldine remarks, but offers no further help to clear up a situation she remembers only too well.
“That is what I wanted to ask you about, Geraldine,”—the mother ignored the comment—she had probably only heard it with her subliminal ear, “but Walter,” she glanced towards the boy who appeared to be sleeping, “but Walter upset my mind completely. Now, Mr. Richard, I did not hear a word of that conversation at first, because it took all my mind to get to the fact that Geraldine, whom I had just left sleeping in her room, should be prowling about the deck nudging sleeping men. It was not until Geraldine had moved completely away that I caught up the words. When she spoke I heard only a murmur, absolutely nothing distinct; and yet it must have been recorded on the subliminal and lifted later into consciousness. I was going straight to Geraldine to ask her about her strange conduct and particularly to inquire why she should be asking about a ‘Richard’ whom she knew well enough to permit calling her ‘Jerry’—why, bless my soul, Geraldine was looking for you, Mr. Richard! But she did not say Mr. Richard—I am sure of that; and she did say ‘Jerry.’ Geraldine, help us out.”
“It’s too deep for me,” Geraldine smiled into her sewing. “You two work it out,” she added serenely; “one of the party ought to keep sane.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Wells was always irritated at the suggestion of any connection between mental mysteries and loss of mental balance; but it drove her away from Geraldine—as Geraldine intended—and set her questioning Mr. Richard.
“Don’t you think it is possible that I heard correctly?” she asked Mr. Richard.
He pondered over the situation. The events of the night came before him. Suddenly he remembered that Geraldine had told him that she had sought for him after Walter had visited her room with suggestions of exposure.
“Ah!” he concluded suddenly; “I believe you heard accurately, Mrs. Wells.”
Geraldine looked at him carefully. He gave her an assuring nod.
“Miss Wells was hunting for Walter,” he said. “She told me later. She thought she had discovered me in the white-trousered sleeper and sought a helper.”