of a bell. But my ears were alert for the voices near by, and soon
Miss Lee opened the door.

Turner was sitting on his bunk. He had made an attempt to shave,
and had cut his chin severely. He was in a dressing-gown, and was
holding a handkerchief to his face; he peered at me over it with
red-rimmed eyes.

"This--this is horrible, Leslie," he said. "I can hardly believe
it."

"It is true, Mr. Turner."

He took the handkerchief away and looked to see if the bleeding had
stopped. I believe he intended to impress us both with his coolness,
but it was an unfortunate attempt. His lips, relieved of the pressure,
were twitching; his nerveless fingers could hardly refold the
handkerchief.

"Wh-why was I not--called at once?" he demanded.

"I notified you. You were--you must have gone to sleep again."

"I don't believe you called me. You're--lying, aren't you?" He
got up, steadying himself by the wall, and swaying dizzily to the
motion of the ship. "You shut me off down here, and then run things
your own damned way." He turned on Miss Lee. "Where's Helen?"

"In her room, Marsh. She has one of her headaches. Please don't
disturb her."