Mrs. Johns was called, following Miss Lee. I watched her carefully on the stand. I had never fathomed Mrs. Johns, or her attitude toward the rest of the party. I had thought, at the beginning of the cruise, that Vail and she were incipient lovers. But she had taken his death with a calmness that was close to indifference. There was something strange and inexplicable in her tigerish championship of Turner—and it remains inexplicable even now. I have wondered since—was she in love with Turner, or was she only a fiery partisan? I wonder!
She testified with an insolent coolness that clearly irritated the prosecution—thinking over her replies, refusing to recall certain things, and eyeing the jury with long, slanting glances that set them, according to their type, either wriggling or ogling.
The first questions were the usual ones. Then:
“Do you recall the night of the 31st of July?”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I refer to the night when Captain Richardson found the prisoner in the chart-room and ordered him on deck.”
“I recall that, yes.”
“Where were you during the quarrel?”
“I was behind Mr. Vail.”
“Tell us about it, please.”