“I am only trying to explain what I did. I ran back to the storeroom and got my revolver, and ran back through the chart-room to the after companion, which had a hood. I thought that if any one was lying in ambush, the hood would protect me until I could get to the deck. I told the helmsman what had happened, and ran forward. Mr. Singleton was on the forecastle-head. We went below together, and found the captain lying at the foot of the forward companion, also dead.” “At this time, had you called the owner of the ship?” “No. I called him then. But I could not rouse him.” “Explain what you mean by that.” “He had been drinking.” There followed a furious wrangle over this point; but the prosecuting attorney succeeded in having question and answer stand. “What did you do next?” “The mate had called the crew. I wakened Mrs. Turner, Miss Lee, and Mrs. Johns, and then went to the chart-room to call the women there. The door was open an inch or so. I received no answer to my knock, and pulled it open. Karen Hansen, the maid, was dead on the floor, and the stewardess was in her bunk, in a state of collapse.” “State where you found the axe with which the crimes were committed.” “It was found in the stewardess’s bunk.” “Where is this axe now?” “It was stolen from the captain’s cabin, where it was locked for safe keeping, and presumably thrown overboard. At least, we didn’t find it.” “I see you are consulting a book to refresh your memory. What is this book?” “The ship’s log.” “How does it happen to be in your possession?” “The crew appointed me captain. As such, I kept the log-book. It contains a full account of the discovery of the bodies, witnessed by all the men.” “Is it in your writing?” “Yes; it is in my writing.” “You read it to the men, and they signed it?” “No; they read it themselves before they signed it.” After a wrangle as to my having authority to make a record in the log-book, the prosecuting attorney succeeded in having the book admitted as evidence, and read to the jury the entry of August 13. Having thus proved the crimes, I was excused, to be recalled later. The defense reserving its cross-examination, the doctor from the quarantine station was called next, and testified to the manner of death. His testimony was revolting, and bears in no way on the story, save in one particular—a curious uniformity in the mutilation of the bodies of Vail and Captain Richardson—a sinister similarity that was infinitely shocking. In each case the forehead, the two arms, and the abdomen had received a frightful blow. In the case of the Danish girl there was only one wound—the injury on the head. CHAPTER XX. OLESON’S STORY HENRIETTA SLOANE was called next. “Your name?” “Henrietta Sloane.” “Are you married?” “A widow.” “When and where were you born?” “Isle of Man, December 11 1872.” “How long have you lived in the United States?” “Since I was two.” “Your position on the yacht Ella?” “Stewardess.” “Before that?”