“You got along very well to-night,” she observed.  “Are you quite strong again”

“Quite strong, Mrs. Johns.”

“You have never done this sort of thing before, have you?”

“Butler’s work?  No—­but it is rather simple.”

“I thought perhaps you had,” she said.  “I seem to recall you, vaguely—­that is, I seem to remember a crowd of people, and a noise—­I dare say I did see you in a crowd somewhere.  You know, you are rather an unforgettable type.”

I was nonplused as to how a butler would reply to such a statement, and took refuge in no reply at all.  As it happened, none was needed.  The ship gave a terrific roll at that moment, and I just saved the Chartreuse as it was leaving the table.  Mrs. Johns was holding to a chair.

“Well caught,” she smiled, and, taking a fresh cigarette, she bent over a table-lamp and lighted it herself.  All the time her eyes were on me, I felt that she was studying one over her cigarette, with something in view.

“Is it still raining?”

“Yes, Mrs. Johns.”

“Will you get a wrap from Karen and bring it to me on deck?  I—­I want air to-night.”

The forward companionway led down into the main cabin.  She moved toward it, her pale green gown fading into the shadow.  At the foot of the steps she turned and looked back at me.  I had been stupid enough, but I knew then that she had something to say to me, something that she would not trust to the cabin walls.  I got the wrap.

She was sitting in a deck-chair when I found her, on the lee side of the after house, a position carefully chosen, with only the storeroom windows behind.  I gave her the wrap, and she flung it over her without rising.

“Sit down, Leslie,” she said, pointing to the chair beside her.  And, as I hesitated, “Don’t be silly, boy.  Else Lee and her sister may be as blind as they like.  You are not a sailor, or a butler, either.  I don’t care what you are:  I’m not going to ask any questions.  Sit down; I have to talk to some one.”

I sat on the edge of the chair, somewhat uneasy, to tell the truth.  The crew were about on a night like that, and at any moment Elsa Lee might avail herself of the dummy hand, as she sometimes did, and run up for a breath of air or a glimpse of the sea.

“Just now, Mrs. Johns;” I said, “I am one of the crew of the Ella, and if I am seen here—­”

“Oh, fudge!” she retorted impatiently.  “My reputation isn’t going to be hurt, and the man’s never is.  Leslie, I am frightened—­you know what I mean.”

“Turner?”

“Yes.”

“You mean—­with the captain?”

“With any one who happens to be near.  He is dangerous.  It is Vail now.  He thinks Mr. Vail is in love with his wife.  The fact is that Vail—­well, never mind about that.  The point is this:  this afternoon he had a dispute with Williams, and knocked him down.  The other women don’t know it.  Vail told me.  We have given out that Williams is seasick.  It will be Vail next, and, if he puts a hand on him, Vail will kill him; I know him.”