“It ain’t my own idea,” he said modestly. “I seen it done once, on the Argentina. It worked all right for a while, and after a week or so we lowered the jolly-boat and towed it astern.”
I shuddered; but the idea was a good one, and I asked Burns to go up and get the boat ready.
“We must let the women up this afternoon,” I said, “and, if it is possible, try to keep them from learning where the bodies are. We can rope off a part of the deck for them, and ask them not to leave it.”
Miss Lee came out then, and Burns went on deck.
The girl was looking better. The exertion of dressing had brought back her color, and her lips, although firmly set, were not drawn. She stood just outside the door and drew a deep breath.
“You must not keep us prisoners any longer, Leslie,” she said. “Put a guard over us, if you must, but let us up in the air.”
“This afternoon, Miss Lee,” I said. “This morning you are better below.”
She understood me, but she had no conception of the brutality of the crime, even then.
“I am not a child. I wish to see them. I shall have to testify—”
“You will not see them, Miss Lee.”