it ever found. It had taken its bloody story many fathoms deep into
the old Atlantic, and hidden it, where many crimes have been hidden,
in the ooze and slime of the sea-bottom.

That day was memorable for more than the attack on Burns. It marked
a complete revolution in my idea of the earlier crimes, and of the
criminal.

Two things influenced my change of mental attitude. The attack on
Burns was one. I did not believe that Turner had strength enough to
fell so vigorous a man, even with the capstan bar which we found
lying near by. Nor could he have jerked and broken the amberline.
Mrs. Johns I eliminated for the same reason, of course. I could
imagine her getting the key by subtlety, wheedling the impressionable
young sailor into compliance. But force!

The second reason was the stronger.

Singleton, the mate, had become a tractable and almost amiable
prisoner. Like Turner, he was ugly only when he was drinking, and
there was not even enough liquor on the Ella to revive poor Burns.
He spent his days devising, with bits of wire, a ring puzzle that he
intended should make his fortune. And I believe he contrived,
finally, a clever enough bit of foolery. He was anxious to talk,
and complained bitterly of loneliness, using every excuse to hold
Tom, the cook, when he carried him his meals. He had asked for a
Bible, too, and read it now and then.

The morning of Bums's injury, I visited Singleton.