"I am rather bewildered," I said slowly; "but, under the
circumstances, I suppose you do not wish me to look after Mr.
Turner?"

"We think not"--from Mrs. Turner.

"How will you manage alone?"

Mrs. Johns got up and lounged to the table. She wore a long satin
negligee of some sort, draped with lace. It lay around her on the
floor in gleaming lines of soft beauty. Her reddish hair was low
on her neck, and she held a cigarette, negligently, in her teeth.
All the women smoked, Mrs. Johns incessantly.

She laid one hand lightly on the revolver, and flicked the ash from
her cigarette with the other.

"We have decided," she said insolently, "that, if the crew may
establish a dead-line, so may we. Our dead-line is the foot of
the companionway. One of us will be on watch always. I am an
excellent shot."

"I do not doubt it." I faced her. "I am afraid you will suffer for
air; otherwise, the arrangement is good. You relieve me of part of
the responsibility for your safety. Tom will bring your food to the
steps and leave it there."

"Thank you."

"With good luck, two weeks will see us in port; and then--"