as a foregone conclusion from the first. All
inquiry terminated in the same answer. No one had set eyes on "Miss
Poole" since the previous evening. The last person to speak with her
was the stewardess, who, on finding she did not intend going to dinner,
had offered to bring her some, but had been refused. The rest was
conjecture--a riddle that only the sea, lying as blue and flat and
still as the sea in a gaudy oleograph, could answer. The story had
flown round the ship like wildfire, and hardly a soul but felt as if he
or she had taken part in a murder. Women reproached each other and
themselves, and men went sombre-eyed to the smoke-room and ordered
drinks that left them still dry-mouthed. The blue and golden day with
the perfumes of Africa spicing its breath took on a brazen and arid
look. It was as if old Mother Africa had already reached out her
brazen hand and dealt a blow, just to remind everyone on the boat that
she was there waiting for them, perhaps with a tragedy for each in her
Pandora box. The Captain had not let it be known where and with whom
Diana's last note had been found. With the remembrance of April's
ashen face as she had handed it to him, he wished to spare the girl as
much as possible.

As for her, the one clear thought in her mind was that she must obey
Diana's last behest and keep silence. It was not hard to do that, for
she had no words. Throughout the day, in a kind of mental torpor, she
helped the stewardess sort and pack all the costly clothes and
possessions which were really Diana's, putting them into the trunks
already labelled for a hotel in Cape Town; her own things were locked
and sealed up in the abandoned cabin on the lower deck, and she would
probably never see them again. She did not attempt to speak to Bellew,
though she knew that an interview with him awaited her, for there could
be no mistake about his being that _other person_ referred to in
Diana's letter. Neither did she see Vereker Sarle. He sent a note
during the afternoon, a very sweet and friendly note, hoping that she
was not ill, and begging her not to be too upset by the tragedy. And
between the lines she read as he meant her to do.

"Why are you hiding from me? Come on deck. I want you."

She wanted him, too. She longed for the comfort of his presence, but
did not dare meet him. A greater barrier than ever existed between
them. The dead girl stood there with her finger on her lips. The
truth