At that Janey turned quickly, quickly searched his face.
“You don’t mind, John, do you?” she asked. “You don’t—It’s nothing to do with you and me.”
Somehow or other he managed to shake some sort of smile at her. Somehow or other he stammered: “No—go—on, go on! I want you to tell me.”
“But, John darling—”
“Tell me, Janey!”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said, wondering. “He was one of the first-class passengers. I saw he was very ill when he came on board.... But he seemed to be so much better until yesterday. He had a severe attack in the afternoon—excitement—nervousness, I think, about arriving. And after that he never recovered.”
“But why didn’t the stewardess—”
“Oh, my dear—the stewardess!” said Janey. “What would he have felt? And besides... he might have wanted to leave a message... to—”
“Didn’t he?” muttered Hammond. “Didn’t he say anything?”
“No, darling, not a word!” She shook her head softly. “All the time I was with him he was too weak... he was too weak even to move a finger....”