“We must,” I said. “We will have to get to the nearest port as quickly as we can, and surrender ourselves and the bodies. This thing will have to be sifted to the bottom, Mr. Turner. The innocent must not suffer for the guilty, and every one on the ship is under suspicion.” He fell into a passion at that, insisting that the bodies be buried at once, asserting his ownership of the vessel as his authority, demanding to know what I, a forecastle hand, had to say about it, flinging up and down the small room, showering me with invective and threats, and shoving Miss Lee aside when she laid a calming hand on his arm. The cut on his chin was bleeding again, adding to his wild and sinister expression. He ended by demanding Williams. I opened the door and called to Charlie Jones to send the butler, and stood by, waiting for the fresh explosion that was coming. Williams shakily confessed that there was no whiskey on board. “Where is it?” Turner thundered. Williams looked at me. He was in a state of inarticulate fright. “I ordered it overboard,” I said. Turner whirled on me, incredulity and rage in his face. “You!” I put the best face I could on the matter, and eyed him steadily. “There has been too much drinking on this ship,” I said. “If you doubt it, go up and look at the three bodies on the deck.” “What have you to do about it?” His eyes were narrowed; there was menace in every line of his face. “With Schwartz gone, Captain Richardson dead, and Singleton in irons, the crew had no officers. They asked me to take charge.” “So! And you used your authority to meddle with what does not concern you The ship has an officer while I am on it. And there will be no mutiny.” He flung into the main cabin, and made for the forward companionway. I stepped back to allow Miss Lee to precede me. She was standing, her back to the dressing-stand, facing the door. She looked at me and made a helpless gesture with her hands, as if the situation were beyond her. Then I saw her look down. She took a quick step or two toward the door, and, stooping picked up some small object from almost under my foot. The incident would have passed without notice, had she not, in attempting to wrap it in her handkerchief, dropped it. I saw then that it was a key. “Let me get it for you,” I said. To my amazement, she put her foot over it. “Please see what Mr. Turner is doing,” she said. “It is the key to my jewel-case.” “Will you let me see it?” “No.” “It is not the key to a jewel-case.” “It does not concern you what it is.” “It is the key to the storeroom door.” “You are stronger than I am. You look the brute. You can knock me away and get it.”