"Where's Williams?" He turned to me.

"I can get him for you."

"Tell him to bring me a highball. My mouth's sticky." He ran his
tongue over his dry lips. "And--take a message from me to
Richardson--" He stopped, startled. Indeed, Miss Lee and I had
both started. "To who's running the boat, anyhow? Singleton?"

"Mr. Singleton is a prisoner in the forward house," I said gravely.

The effect of this was astonishing. He stared at us both, and,
finding corroboration in Miss Lee's face, his own took on an instant
expression of relief. He dropped to the side of the bed, and his
color came slowly back. He even smiled--a crafty grin that was
inexpressibly horrible.

"Singleton!" he said. "Why do they--how do they know it was he?"

"He had quarreled with the captain last night, and he was on duty
at the time of the when the thing happened. The man at the wheel
claims to have seen him in the chartroom just before, and there was
other evidence, I believe. The lookout saw him forward, with
something--possibly the axe. Not decisive, of course, but enough
to justify putting him in irons. Somebody did it, and the murderer
is on board, Mr. Turner."

His grin had faded, but the crafty look in his pale-blue eyes
remained.