Just how it was to be done was a difficult thing to decide. Miss Lee had not appeared yet, and the three of us, Jones, Burns, and I, talked it over. Jones suggested that we put them in one of the life boats, and nail over it a canvas and tarpaulin cover. “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.” She stood twisting her handkerchief in her hands. She saw Charlie Jones pacing the length of the cabin, revolver in hand. From the chartroom came the sound of hammering, where the after companion door, already locked, was being additionally secured with strips of wood nailed across. “I understand,” she said finally. “Will you take me to Karen’s room?” I could see no reason for objecting; but so thorough was the panic that had infected us all that I would not allow her in until I had preceded her, and had searched in the clothes closet and under the two bunks. Williams had not reached this room yet, and there was a pool of blood on the floor. She had a great deal of courage. She glanced at the stain, and looked away again quickly. “I—think I shall not come in. Will you look at the bell register for me? What bell is registered?” “Three.” “Three!” she said. “Are you sure?” I looked again. “It is three.” “Then it was not my sister’s bell that rang. It was Mr. Vail’s!” “It must be a mistake. Perhaps the wires—” “Mrs. Turner’s room is number one. Please go back and ask her to ring her bell, while I see how it registers.” But I would not leave her there alone. I went with her to her sister’s door, and together we returned to the maids’ cabin. Mrs. Turner had rung as we requested, and her bell had registered “One.”