“Well, it sounded like it,” said the mate, somewhat taken aback.
“I don't care what it sounded like,” said the other. “I didn't say it. It was the last thing I should 'ave called out. I didn't want to be saved.”
“P'r'aps he cried 'Emma,'” said the voice from the door.
“Might ha' been that,” admitted the mate. “Well, when I heard it I ran to the edge and looked down at the water, and at first I couldn't see anything. Then I saw what I took to be a dog, but, knowing that dogs can't cry 'help!'—”
“Emma,” corrected Mr. Heard.
“Emma,” said the mate, “I just put my hands up and dived in. When I came to the surface I struck out for him and tried to seize him from behind, but before I could do so he put his arms round my neck like—like—”
“Like as if it was Emma's,” suggested the voice by the door.
Miss Smith rose with majestic dignity and confronted the speaker. “And who asked you in here, George Harris?” she inquired, coldly.
“I see the door open,” stammered Mr. Harris—“I see the door open and I thought—”
“If you look again you'll see the handle,” said Miss Smith.