“Will you get a wrap from Karen and bring it to me on deck? I—I want air to-night.”
The forward companionway led down into the main cabin. She moved toward it, her pale green gown fading into the shadow. At the foot of the steps she turned and looked back at me. I had been stupid enough, but I knew then that she had something to say to me, something that she would not trust to the cabin walls. I got the wrap.
She was sitting in a deck-chair when I found her, on the lee side of the after house, a position carefully chosen, with only the storeroom windows behind. I gave her the wrap, and she flung it over her without rising.
“Sit down, Leslie,” she said, pointing to the chair beside her. And, as I hesitated, “Don’t be silly, boy. Elsa Lee and her sister may be as blind as they like. You are not a sailor, or a butler, either. I don’t care what you are: I’m not going to ask any questions. Sit down; I have to talk to some one.”
I sat on the edge of the chair, somewhat uneasy, to tell the truth. The crew were about on a night like that, and at any moment Elsa Lee might avail herself of the dummy hand, as she sometimes did, and run up for a breath of air or a glimpse of the sea.
“Just now, Mrs. Johns;” I said, “I am one of the crew of the Ella, and if I am seen here—”
“Oh, fudge!” she retorted impatiently. “My reputation isn’t going to be hurt, and the man’s never is. Leslie, I am frightened—you know what I mean.”
“Turner?”
“Yes.”
“You mean—with the captain?”