"Yes, I know. I was thrown violently down by a sudden lurching of the ship, and must have struck my head against something," she replied. "But afterwards I remember experiencing a most curious sensation in my throat, just as though someone with sinewy fingers were trying to strangle me."
"Absurd!" he laughed. "It was only your imagination. The close confinement in that place, together with the rolling of the ship, had caused you a little light-headedness, without a doubt."
"But it was more than imagination. Of that I feel certain. There was blood upon my lips, you remember."
"Because in falling you had cut your lower lip. I can see the place now."
"I believe that someone tried to take my life."
"Rubbish! Why, who is there to suspect? I was the only soul on board who knew of your presence. Surely you don't suspect me of attempting murder?"
"Of course not," she answered decisively.
"Then don't give way to any wild imaginings of that sort. Keep a cool head in this affair."
The remainder of the conversation was lost to me, although I strained my ears to catch every sound. His words made it plain that she was in ignorance of the knowledge possessed by the unseen man whose voice I had overheard; and further, that both were acting together in order to obtain some object, the nature of which was, to me, a complete mystery.
She came a short time afterwards and kindly inquired how I felt. They were going to change into the dining-car, and she hoped I would not starve altogether. As I talked to her I recollected the strange marks I had seen upon her throat—those distinct impressions of finger and thumb. I looked again for them, but they were concealed by the lace of her high-necked bodice. There seemed a strange, half-tragic beauty about her face. She was certainly fifty, if not more, yet in the broad daylight I could detect no thread of silver in her hair. She was extremely well-preserved.