Mrs. Waters nodded and released herself, "First shot," she said, with a satisfied air.
The boatswain wrung his hands. "Good heavens!" he said, moving slowly towards the door. "Poor fellow!"
"Come back," said the widow, tugging at his coat.
"I was—was going to see—whether I could do anything for 'im," quavered the boatswain. "Poor fellow!"
"You stay where you are," commanded Mrs. Waters. "I don't want any witnesses. I don't want this house to have a bad name. I'm going to keep it quiet."
"Quiet?" said the shaking boatswain. "How?"
"First thing to do," said the widow, thoughtfully, "is to get rid of the body. I'll bury him in the garden, I think. There's a very good bit of ground behind those potatoes. You'll find the spade in the tool-house."
The horrified Mr. Benn stood stock-still regarding her.
"While you're digging the grave," continued Mrs. 'Waters, calmly, "I'll go in and clean up the mess."
The boatswain reeled and then fumbled with trembling fingers at his collar.