Here, under the radiance of the lights, they looked at one another as if expecting to see startling changes and fell groaning into chairs, or sat, stiff and upright, with rigid muscles. The effect of the shock showed in Mrs. Cornell, Stokes and Shine, in a sudden outburst of loquacity. They went over and over it, what they were saying, where they were, what had entered their minds when they heard the shot. “And I thought to myself,” sentence after sentence started that way. Then the feverish talk began to die. Bassett had told them when the authorities might be expected and as the hour drew near, dread of the drama in which they found themselves stilled their tongues. The sea breeze, freighted with the acrid odors of uncovered mud and seaweed, blew through the room. Bassett rose and closed the garden door, and eyes shifted to him, hung on his hand as it slid the bolt. “What are you shutting the door for?” Mrs. Cornell quavered. “I thought there was too much draught.” “Oh, what does that matter,” she wailed, “with Sybil killed and floating out to sea?” She broke into loud hiccoughing sobs. Stokes shifted in his chair and snarled out: “Can’t you stop making that noise?” Bassett crossed to where Anne was sitting by the entrance. She had her back to the room and was looking out at the lights of Hayworth dotting the shore. He stood behind her chair and put his hand on her shoulder. Her fingers stole up and rested on his, icy cold. He bent till his head was close to hers and whispered: “Bear up. Thank God this can’t touch you in any way.” Her fingers pressed an answer but she said nothing. Shine came toward them: “Those fellers were lucky who got off this afternoon. I might have gone with them if I’d had the sense.” Anne answered this time: “Yes, they were more fortunate than we are.” Mrs. Cornell, her sobs under control, spoke up: “But even if we _were_ here they can’t suspect us. We’ve got alibis, we’re all accounted for. We were all in----” She realized where she was going and stopped. There was a portentous silence. Shine almost shouted, pointing out at the channel: “The tide’s falling fast. They can’t get into the dock here. How will they make a landing?” Bassett answered: “In a cove at the upper end of the island. They’ve a dock there for low water. They have to make a detour, that’s all.” Flora, who had been sitting with her hand over her eyes, dropped it and sat erect. Her breath came from her in a loud exhalation that was almost a groan. Every pair of eyes shifted to her, watchful, questioning, apprehensive. “Do you feel ill, Flora?” said Bassett, moving to her side. “No--no,” she looked wildly about. “But this waiting--it’s so awful.” Miss Pinkney suggested a glass of water, but Flora waved a hand as if pushing it away. Stokes rose and moved to a seat beside her. “They’ll be here soon now.”