“They said he was crazy,” I remarked lifelessly.
“Women drive men mad,” Gorham returned with amazing earnestness. “Harry’s madness was—it was something you and I would give our souls for.”
“I looked down at the flimsy bit of paper on the table, and sighed. It was Owen’s final message. It read:
Miss Katherine Melrose, SS W. Pacific.
You cannot say no this time.
Harry Owen, Master Shearwater.
“Yes,” said Gorham slowly, “I saw her hand rest lightly on her bosom and I knew that Harry’s message lay there.”
“But she never answered it!” I cried.
My companion stared at me.
“Oh, yes, she answered it. As such women do. That night she came to my room and said abruptly, ‘They tell me he—Harry—Harry Owen went into his cabin and closed the door.’
“‘That is true,’ I told her.
“‘And he did not open the door again?’ she insisted.