A White Skirt

But Neeland, a clever observer of externals, was no reader of
character. The passenger list never seemed to confirm any conclusions
he arrived at concerning any of the passengers on the Volhynia. A
gentleman he mistook for an overfed broker turned out to be a popular
clergyman with outdoor proclivities; a slim, poetic-looking youth who
carried a copy of "Words and Wind" about the deck travelled for the
Gold Leaf Lard Company.

Taking them all in all, Neeland concluded that they were as harmless a
collection of reconcentrados as he had ever observed; and he was
strongly tempted to leave the box in his locked stateroom.

He decided to do so one afternoon after luncheon, and, lugging his
box, started to return to his stateroom with that intention, instead
of going on deck, as usual, for a postprandial cigarette.

There was nobody in the main corridor as he passed, but in the short,
carpeted passage leading to his stateroom he caught a glimpse of a
white serge skirt vanishing into the stateroom opposite to his, and
heard the door close and the noise of a key turned quickly.

His steward, being questioned on the first day out, had told him that
this stateroom was occupied by an invalid gentleman travelling alone,
who preferred to remain there instead of trusting to his crutches on
a temperamental deck.

Neeland, passing the closed and curtained door, wondered whether the
invalid had made a hit, or whether he had a relative aboard who wore a
white serge skirt, white stockings and shoes, and was further endowed
with agreeable ankles.