"Well, here comes in the girl."
"And you said there was no girl in it!"
Chantry could not resist that. He believed that Havelock's assertion had been made only because he didn't want the girl in it—resented her being there.
"There isn't, as I see it," replied Havelock the Dane quietly. "From my point of view, the story is over. Ferguson's decision: that is the whole thing—made more interesting, more valuable, because the repetition of the thing proves beyond a doubt that he acted on principle, not on impulse. If he had flung himself into the life-boat because he was a coward, he would have been ashamed of it; and whatever he might have done afterwards, he would never have done that thing again. He would have been sensitive: not saving his own life would have turned into an obsession with him. But there is left, I admit, the murder. And murders always take the public. So I'll give you the murder—though it throws no light on Ferguson, who is the only thing in the whole accursed affair that really counts."
"The murder? I don't see—unless you mean the murdering of the tow-headed child."
"I mean the murder of Ferguson by the girl he loved."
"You said 'suicide' a little while ago," panted Chantry.
"Technically, yes. She was a hundred miles away when it happened. But she did it just the same. Oh, I suppose I've got to tell you, as Ferguson told me."
"Did he tell you he was going to kill himself?" Chantry's voice was sharp.
"He did not. Ferguson wasn't a fool. But it was plain as day to me after it happened, that he had done it himself."