The Dead Line

Mrs. Johns and the stewardess came up late in the afternoon. We had
railed off a part of the deck around the forward companionway for
them, and none of the crew except the man on guard was allowed inside
the ropes. After a consultation, finding the ship very short-handed,
and unwilling with the night coming on to trust any of the men, Burns
and I decided to take over this duty ourselves, and, by stationing
ourselves at the top of the companionway, to combine the duties of
officer on watch and guard of the after house. To make the women
doubly secure, we had Oleson nail all the windows closed, although
they were merely portholes. Jones was no longer on guard below, and
I had exchanged Singleton's worthless revolver for my own serviceable
one.

Mrs. Johns, carefully dressed, surveyed the railed-off deck with
raised eyebrows.

"For--us?" she asked, looking at me. The men were gathered about
the wheel aft, and were out of ear-shot. Mrs. Sloane had dropped
into a steamer-chair, and was lying back with closed eyes.

"Yes, Mrs. Johns."

"Where have you put them?"

I pointed to where the jolly-boat, on the port side of the ship,
swung on its davits.

"And the mate, Mr. Singleton?"

"He is in the forward house."

"What did you do with the--the weapon?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Morbid curiosity," she said, with a lightness of tone that rang
false to my ears. "And then--naturally, I should like to be sure
that it is safely overboard, so it will not be"--she shivered--"
used again."