'It's Hell,' Conroy muttered. 'It begins on a steamer--on a stifling hot
night. I come out of my cabin. I pass through the saloon where the
stewards have rolled up the carpets, and the boards are bare and hot
and soapy.'

'I've travelled too,' she said.

'Ah! I come on deck. I walk down a covered alleyway. Butcher's meat,
bananas, oil, that sort of smell.'

Again she nodded.

'It's a lead-coloured steamer, and the sea's lead-coloured. Perfectly
smooth sea--perfectly still ship, except for the engines running, and
her waves going off in lines and lines and lines--dull grey. All this
time I know something's going to happen.'

'I know. Something going to happen,' she whispered.

'Then I hear a thud in the engine-room. Then the noise of machinery
falling down--like fire-irons--and then two most awful yells. They're
more like hoots, and I know--I know while I listen--that it means that
two men have died as they hooted. It was their last breath hooting out
of them--in most awful pain. Do you understand?'

'I ought to. Go on.'

'That's the first part. Then I hear bare feet running along the
alleyway. One of the scalded men comes up behind me and says quite
distinctly, "My friend! All is lost!" Then he taps me on the shoulder