I flung out of Turner’s cabin as the crew, gathered from the forecastle and from the decks, crowded down the forward companionway.  I ran my eye over them.  Every man was there, Singleton below by the captain’s body, the crew, silent and horror-struck, grouped on the steps:  Clarke, McNamara, Burns, Oleson, and Adams.  Behind the crew, Charlie Jones had left the wheel and stood peering down, until sharply ordered back.  Williams, with a bandage on his head, and Tom, the mulatto cook, were in the group.

I stood, revolver in hand, staring at the men.  Among them, I felt sure, was the murderer.  But which one?  All were equally pale, equally terrified.

“Boys,” I said, “Mr. Vail and your captain have been murdered.  The murderer must be on the ship—­one of ourselves.”  There was a murmur at that.  “Mr. Singleton, I suggest that these men stay together in a body, and that no one be allowed to go below until all have been searched and all weapons taken from them.”

Singleton had dropped into a chair, and sat with his face buried in his hands, his back to the captain’s body.  He looked up without moving, and his face was gray.

“All right,” he said.  “Do as you like.  I’m sick.”

He looked sick.  Burns, who had taken Schwartz’s place as second mate, left the group and came toward me.

“We’d better waken the women,” he said.  “If you’ll tell them, Leslie, I’ll take the crew on deck and keep them there.”

Singleton seemed dazed, and when Burns spoke of taking the men on deck, he got up dizzily.

“I’m going too,” he muttered.  “I’ll go crazy if I stay down here with that.”

The rug had been drawn back to show the crew what had happened.  I drew it reverently over the body again.

After the men had gone, I knocked at Mrs. Turner’s door.  It was some time before she roused; when she answered, her voice was startled.

“What is it?”

“It’s Leslie, Mrs. Turner.  Will you come to the door?”

“In a moment.”

She threw on a dressing-gown, and opened the door.

“What is wrong?”

I told her, as gently as I could.  I thought she would faint; but she pulled herself together and looked past me into the cabin.

“That is—?”

“The captain, Mrs. Turner.”

“And Mr. Vail?”

“In his cabin.”

“Where is Mr. Turner?”

“In his cabin, asleep.”

She looked at me strangely, and, leaving the door, went into her sister’s room, next.  I heard Miss Lee’s low cry of horror, and almost immediately the two women came to the doorway.

“Have you seen Mr. Turner?” Miss Lee demanded.

“Just now.”

“Has Mrs. Johns been told?”

“Not yet.”

She went herself to Mrs. Johns’s cabin, and knocked.  She got an immediate answer, and Mrs. Johns, partly dressed, opened the door.