“What sort of a thing?”

“What I told you—­white.”

“A white head?”

“It wasn’t a head.  For God’s sake, Leslie!  I can’t tell you any more than that.  I saw it.  That’s enough.  I saw it three times.”

“It isn’t enough for me,” I said doggedly.  “It hadn’t any head or face, but it looked in!  It’s dark out there.  How could you see?”

For reply, he leaned over and, turning down the lamp, blew it out.  We sat in the smoking darkness, and slowly, out of the thick night, the window outlined itself.  I could see it distinctly.  But how, white and faceless, had it stared in at the window, or reached through the bars, as Singleton declared it had done, and waved a fingerless hand at us?

He was in a state of mental and physical collapse, and begged so pitifully not to be left, that at last I told him I would take him with me, on his promise to remain in a chair until dawn, and to go back without demur.  He sat near me, amidships, huddled down among the cushions of one of the wicker chairs, not sleeping, but staring straight out, motionless.

With the first light of dawn Burns relieved me, and I went forward with Singleton.  He dropped into his bunk, and was asleep almost immediately.  Then, inch by inch, I went over the deck for footprints, for any clue to what, under happier circumstances, I should have considered a ghastly hoax.  But the deck was slippery and sodden, the rail dripping, and between the davits where the jolly-boat had swung was stretched a line with a shirt of Burns’s hung on it, absurdly enough, to dry.  Poor Burns, promoted to the dignity of first mate, and trying to dress the part!

Oleson and Adams made no attempt to work that day; indeed, Oleson was not able.  As I had promised, the breakfast for the after house was placed on the companion steps by Tom, the cook, whence it was removed by Mrs. Sloane.  I saw nothing of either Elsa Lee or Mrs. Johns.  Burns was inclined to resent the deadline the women had drawn below, and suggested that, since they were so anxious to take care of themselves, we give up guarding the after house and let them do it.  We were short-handed enough, he urged, and, if they were going to take that attitude, let them manage.  I did not argue, but my eyes traveled over the rail to where the jolly-boat rose to meet the fresh sea of the morning, and he colored.  After that he made no comment.

Singleton awakened before noon, and ate his first meal since the murders.  He looked better, and we had a long talk, I outside the window and he within.  He held to his story of the night before, but was still vague as to just how the thing looked.  Of what it was he seemed to have no doubt.  It was the specter of either the captain or Vail; he excluded the woman, because she was shorter.  As I stood outside, he measured on me the approximate height of the apparition —­somewhere about five feet eight.  He could see Burns’s shirt, he admitted, but the thing had been close to the window.